CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THIS BOOK IS ONE OF 
 A COLLECTION MADE BY 
 
 BENNO LOEWY 
 
 1854-1919 
 
 AND BEQUEATHED TO 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
__ _ Cornell University Library 
 PS 3129.W68G5 ^ 
 
 '"'"ISiSEiiiiftSpifiSi"'*'' °' Veniceja trag 
 
 3 1924 022 207 777 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tinis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022207777 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The following Plays, by the author of " Giorgione," will be 
 issued in the order in which they were written ; namely : — 
 vol. 
 
 I. Giorgione, the Painter of Venice. A Tragedy. 
 n. Henrt Vm. ; or, Two Proverbs Verified. A Comedy. 
 in. Love One Another; or, the Old House on Cihevin. 
 
 A Drama. 
 IV. Kathleen O'More; or, the Pledge of Love. A Drama. 
 V. Cedrio, the Greteeard ; or, the Saxon Conspiracy. 
 
 A Tragedy. 
 VT. The Miser of Marseilles. A Tragedy. 
 vn. Marietta Eobusti : a Tale of the Tintoretto. A 
 
 Tragedy. 
 Viil. Elizabeth. A Tragedy. 
 IX. Mart Stuart. A Tragedy. 
 X. Anne Boletn, Second Queen Consort of Henry VHI. 
 
 A Tragedy. 
 XI. Katherine Howard, Kfth Queen Consort of Henry 
 
 VHt. A Tragedy. 
 XII. Bernard Palisst, the Potter; or, the Huguenot 
 Lovers. A Tragedy. 
 
 Actors and Managers desirous of mounting Mr. Walker's 
 Plays, may obtain' information regarding them, by addressing 
 their communications to bim at TJtica, N. T., or to 
 
 3. W. PEETEE, Esq., Attorney, 
 
 128 Broadway, N. T. 
 
WALKER'S PLAYS. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 GIORGIOKE, THE PAINTER OF "VENICE. 
 
 '' To wake the aoul by tender strokes of art, 
 To raise tlie geniaa, and to mend tlie heaxt ; 
 To make mankind, in conscious virtue hold, 
 LiTe o'er each scene, and be what they behold : 
 Tor this, the tragic muse first trod the stage, 
 Commanding tears to stream through every age ; 
 Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, 
 And foes to virtue wondered how they wept." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 " Bold is the man ! who, in this nicer age, 
 Presumes to tread the chaste, corrected stage ; 
 Now, with gay tinsel arts we can no more 
 Conceal the want of Nature's sterling ore." 
 
 James Thouson. 
 
PREFACE TO THE PLAYS. 
 
 Teaks have been buried by their father Time, 
 Wherein I had some hours aside from toil 
 Set down for leisure, pleasure, and repose. 
 They were devoted, I say mainly so, 
 To fashioning the framework of some plays, 
 Where bold invention and internal worth 
 Would show that moral beauty was and is 
 The best part of a man. 
 
 I fashioned them for actors, honest men; 
 Not for those puppets who dress up for show, 
 Who speak no sentence worth remembering. 
 I fashioned them for those who love the art 
 Which Thespis followed in the days of yore. 
 I fashioned them for those who make the feast 
 A thing to be remembered by their guests 
 When years grow hoary — those who make the 
 
 feast 
 With honest things, — things for the intellect. 
 Besides the glare of costly dining ware, — 
 Things cousin to the soul's delight and love. 
 
VI PREFACE TO THE PLAYS. 
 
 I did not make them for the sake of show : — 
 For, look you, neighbors, what's a splendid show 
 Of chandeliers, of golden goblets. China-ware, 
 To those who come expecting goodly things 
 Inside the dishes? things to please the eye 
 And satisfy the cravings of the soul ? 
 Think you, how they swear, how grow dissatisfied 
 When introduced to Splendor's dining hall, 
 Whereto they're welcomed by a smiling form — 
 A fawning form, obsequious, at your will, 
 And robed in costly fabrics; garnished, too, 
 With gems that dazzle and enchant the eye 
 With oriental glow? Welcomed to the hall 
 Where Grandeur hath been busy, at her best 
 To make the scene imposing? Where the lie 
 Is plainly seen behind the flimsy veil 
 Of all the glare ? Would you, good neighbors, pray, 
 If hungry you should come invited guests 
 And leave with glitter, not with honest fare ? 
 I'll answer for you ; truly, you would swear ! 
 
 I made these plays to entertain the crowds 
 Which nightly gather at the sev'ral shows; 
 I sought to reach them by the Thespian voice. 
 To lead them on to beauty, grace, and light; 
 To yearn for that perfection of the heart 
 Itself approves — the confidence of love. 
 It was not that the old plays had decayed, 
 Which made me seize the pen and scribble more; 
 
PREFACE TO THE PLATB. V 
 
 Nor that their merit languished, did not please ; 
 Nor that the pinnacle of Excellence 
 Was left for me (/ need your pardon here, 
 For I can hardly hope to occupy 
 The cellar floor). The great souls of the past, 
 And those rich-gifted of the present time, 
 "Will never lose their beauty, lustre, light, 
 While men inhabit this grand universe. 
 
 The greedy masses look for something new. — 
 They care not to be fed with food to-day, 
 The like of which they had but yesterday ; 
 And they who cater for this appetite 
 Should be men of the soundest principles, 
 Should be alive to every passing wave 
 Or trembling of the hungry atmosphere, 
 Should catch the very essence of the deep 
 And cram it down the maw they seek to fill. 
 
 These plays were well considered, plots devised. 
 Ere words flew from my pen. Before a stone 
 Could be hewn into shape, a timber framed, 
 The architect must furnish his design. 
 'Twas here the labor 'gan ; and here it was 
 The sweat of fear assailed him ; here it was 
 He trembled in the presence of the need 
 Which clearly stood before him ; here he saw 
 That every artifice at his command 
 Was needed for the work he had in hand. 
 
viii PREFACE TO THE PLAYS. 
 
 To gain th' applause of various-hearted men 
 He must appeal — must lead them by his light 
 To beauty, duty, and humanity. 
 And when the building 'gan to climb the air 
 How proud was he ! And how his pride in- 
 creased, 
 As from the corner to the coping-stone 
 He followed it; though doubting if 'twould please 
 Himself when finished, or the public soul. 
 
 He did not build to pander to the base, 
 
 Whose morals are already in the mire — 
 
 Who love the sludge and stench of indolence — 
 
 Who set at naught the efforts made for them 
 
 And their salvation : No, but he invites, 
 
 Not only those who are reputed fair, 
 
 But every one, to come upon the land 
 
 Where flowers bloom, and where the way is clear 
 
 Towards the grand completion of the law — 
 
 " Love God and one another.'' Thafs his sign ! 
 
 The men and women that I introduce. 
 
 Have been selected from the motley crowds 
 
 Which gained admittance to my studio. 
 
 To fill their places in the sev'ral plays 
 
 I set them down. Tou'U see that I have sought 
 
 The aid of Nature and the force of Art 
 
 To give them tone, to clearly separate 
 
 The gross ingredients, and personify. 
 
PREFACE TO -THE PLATS. ix 
 
 And what they utter, will be recognized 
 As humanizing, rather than design 
 To carve a monument for villany. 
 I have not clothed them in vulgarity, 
 To catch the license of the malcontents, 
 Who shout applause, admire, and emulate 
 The misdirected genius of the stage. 
 
 But tmn I find it is no easy thing, 
 To gafin admittance to the managers. 
 Or Jo the actors whom I care to know, 
 AiuB whose opinions would command respect. 
 Yet who can blame them for their reticence? 
 re authors not a crowd of reckless men ? 
 )o they not watch the actor's every step ? 
 Do they not stalk before him and behind? 
 Turn as he will, does he not hear a voice 
 Proclaiming such great things were ne'er before 
 Set down by man ? (I'm in the crowd, I swear ! ) 
 What satisfaction can the actor find. 
 When in the tangled forest of a play 
 He gets confused? How can he see his way. 
 Where action, matter, color, time, and place. 
 Are badly jumbled ? How may he escape ? 
 Nay, is it possible to be at ease 
 In such a muddle ? Pardon, if they swear ! 
 
 It may be that my plays will disappear. 
 For want of action, matter — unity ; 
 
X PREFACE TO THE PLATS. 
 
 Or that the list already is too full. 
 If that should be the case, must I complain ? 
 Must I complain, e'en though I labored long 
 And earnestly, that they might win regard 
 If not more lasting and deserved renown? 
 Though I may never see the curtain rise — 
 Though I may never see the men advance/ 
 That grew into my verse, nor the women a 
 Whp live of my creation, — would that be strange ? 
 Not very strange ! the thing's not new with me ! 
 For men with grander souls and nobler hearts, 
 Whose muse was like a queen to my poor 
 
 wench, 
 Whose muse exceeded mine so far indeed 
 That I may never hope to reach the steep 
 Whereon they stand, returned to mother-dust 
 Ere they were recognized, regarded, known. 
 Were they not subject to a thousand fears ? 
 Was not ambition often mortified ? ' 
 
 Pride often pierced? And yet they sjiine to-day, 
 And will continue so for ages more. /^ 
 Then let me hope that my lot may be fair. 
 That Time will show this work of mine to men 
 For their applause, commiseration, love. 
 " that is egotistical ! " you say. 
 Well, / am human, therefore pardon me, 
 Your servant, sirs. 
 
 The Author. 
 
msLlhtt'^ pap^, ml 1. 
 
 GIORaiONE, 
 
 THE 
 
 PAH^TTEE OF YEISTIOE. 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 BT 
 
 ALFRED WALKER. 
 
 GIOKeiONB, BOEN, A. D. 1478; DIED, A.D. 1611. 
 
 "He was aa far 'bove common men 
 As a sun-steed, wild-eyed and meteor-maned, 
 Neighing the reeling stars, is 'bore a hack 
 mUi sluggiflh veins of mnd." 
 
 Alezahder SmxH. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 PRINTED AT THE EIVEESIDE PRESS. 
 1869. /t 
 
f\lp^^/^^ 
 
 Entered accoiclmg to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Northern District of New 
 York. 
 
 KrraBsisz, CAUBBmOE: 
 
 SXfiBEOTTPES AND FBIN3?ED B7 
 a 0. HOUGtHTON AHD COMPANY. 
 
To 
 
 THE ACTOK, THE GENTLEMAN, THE MAN 
 OF NOBLE SOUL, 
 
 WHOSE VALOlf, PASSIOM, PEIDE, EXALTED HIS PKOFESSION, 
 
 AND MADE IT HONORABLE; 
 
 WHO NOBLY WON THE LATTBEL WHICH HE WEAEflJ 
 
 THAT HE MAT LONG ADOEN THE HISTRIONIC AKT 
 
 IS THE WISH OF THE THOUSANDS 
 
 WHO HAVE HEARD HIM READ 
 
 GREAT SHAKESPEARE'S SUBLIME VERSE! 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF THIS PLAT 
 
 OFFERS IT, 
 
 FRATEENALLT, 
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE EXCELLENCE AND EMINENCE 
 
 OP 
 
 EDWIN BOOTH. 
 
SOUEOE OF THE PLOT. 
 
SOURCE OF THE PLOT. 
 
 GIOKGIONE, BOKN, A. D. 1478; DIED A. D. 1511. 
 
 " This painter was another great inventor^ one of those who 
 stamped his own individuality on his art. He was essentially a 
 poet, and a stAjective poet, who fused his own being with all he 
 performed and created. If Kaphael be the Shakespeare, then 
 Giorgioue may be styled the Byron, of paiufing. 
 
 " He was bom at Castel Franco, a small town in the territory of 
 Treviso ; and his proper name was Giorgio Barberelli. I^'othing is 
 known of his family, or of his younger years, except that having 
 shown a strong disposition to art he was brought, when a boy, to 
 Venice, and p l aced under the tuition of GiauJBellinL 
 
 " As he grew up, he was distinguishe d by his tall, noble figure, 
 and the dignity of his deportment, and his companions called 
 him Giorgione, or George the Great, by which nickname he has, 
 after the Italian fashion, descended to posterity. 
 
 " Giorgione appears to have been endowed by nature with an in- 
 tense love of beauty, and a sense of harmony which pervaded his 
 whole being. He was famous as a player and composer on the lute, 
 to which he sang his own verses. 
 
 " In his works two characteristics prevail, sentiment and color; 
 both tinged by the peculiar temperament of the man ; the senti- 
 ment is noble, but melancholy; and the color decided, intense, and 
 glowing. He had a freedom, a careless mastery of hand, unknown 
 before his time. 
 
 " It is to be regretted, that of one so interesting in his character 
 and Ms works, we know so little ; yet more to be regretted that a 
 2 
 
18 SOURCE OF THE PLOT. 
 
 being so gifted with the passionate sensibility of a poet should have 
 been employed chiefly in decorative painting, and that too con- 
 fined to the outsides of the Venetian palaces. These creations of 
 art have been destroyed by fire, ruined by time, or efiaced by 
 the damps of the Lagune. He appears to have early acquired 
 fame in his art, and we find him in 1504 employed, together with 
 Titian, in painting with frescoes the exterior of the Fondaco dei 
 Tedeschi {the Hall of Exchange belonging to the German mer- 
 chants). That part intrusted to Giorgione he covered with the 
 most beautiful and poetical figures; but the significance of the 
 whole was soon after the artist's death forgotten. Vasarl tells us 
 that in his time no one could intei-pret it; it appears to have been 
 a sort of arabesque on a colossal scale. 
 
 " Giorgione delighted in fresco as a vehicle, because it gave him 
 ample scope for that largeness and freedom of outline which charac- 
 terized his manner ; unhappily, of his numerous works, only the 
 merest fragments remain. We have no evidence that he exer- 
 cised his art elsewhere than at Venice, or that he ever resided out- 
 side of the Venetian territoiy ; in his works the heads, hands, 
 features, costumes, are all stamped with the Venetian character. 
 He had no school, though, induced by his social and affectionate 
 nature, he freely imparted what he knew, and often worked in con- 
 junction with others. His love of music, and his love of pleasure, 
 sometimes led him astray from his art, but were oftener his in- 
 spirers : both are embodied in his pictures, particularly his exqui- 
 site pastorals and concerts, over which, however, he has breathed 
 that cast of thoughtfulness and profound feeling which, in the 
 midst of harmony and beauty, is like a revelation or a prophecy of 
 sorrow. All the rest of what is recorded concerning the life and 
 death of Giorgione may be told in a few words. Among the 
 painters who worked with him was Pietro Luzzo, of Feltri, near 
 Venice, known in the history of art as Morto da Feltri, and men- 
 tioned by Vasari as the inventor, or rather revivor of arabesque 
 painting in the antique style, which he had studied among the 
 dark vaults of the Roman ruins. This Morto, as Eidolphi re- 
 lates, was the friend of Giorgione, and lived under the same roof 
 with him. He took advantage of Giorgione's confidence to seduce 
 and caiTy off' from his house a girl whom he passionately loved. 
 
SOVBCE OF THE PLOT. 19 
 
 Wounded doubly by the falsehood of his mistress and the treach- 
 ery of his friend, Giorgione sunk into despair and soon afterwards 
 died, at the early age of thirty-three. Morto da Feltri afterwards 
 fled from Venice, entered the army, and was killed at the battle 
 of Zara, in 1519. Such is the Venetian tradition. 
 
 " His portraits are magnificent. They have all, with the strong- 
 est resemblance to general nature, » grand ideal cast, for it was in 
 the character of the man to idealize everything he touched. Very 
 few of his portraits are now to be identified. Among the finest 
 and most interesting, may be mentioned his own portrait in the 
 Munich Gallery, which has an expression of the profonndest mel- 
 ancholy. In the Imperial Gallery at Venice — rich in his works 
 — there is a picture representing a young man covered with a gar- 
 land of vine-leaves ; another comes behind him with a concealed 
 dagger, and appears to watch the moment to strike; the expres- 
 sion of the two heads can never be forgotten by those who have 
 looked upon them. The fine portrait of a cavalier with a, page 
 riveting his armor, is well known ; it is in the possession of the 
 Earl of Carlisle, and styled, though without much probability, Gas- 
 ton de Foix. A beautiful full-length figure in armor, now in the 
 collection of Mr. Rogers, bears the same name, and is probably a 
 study for a St. Michael or a St. George. Lord Byron has cele- 
 brated in some beautiful lines the impression made on his mind by 
 a picture in the Manfrini Palace, Venice ; but the poet errs in styl- 
 ing it the ' Portraits of his son, and wife, and self.' Giorgione 
 never had either son or wife. The picture alluded to represents a 
 Venetian lady, a cavalier, and a page — portraits evidently, but the 
 names are unknown. 
 
 " The striking characteristics of all Giorgione's pictures, whether 
 portraits, ideal heads, or compositions, is the ineffaceable impres- 
 sion they leave on the memory — the impression of reality. In the 
 apparent simplicity of the means through which this effect is pro- 
 duced, the few yet splendid colors, the vigorous decision of touch, 
 the depth and tenderness of the sentiment, they remind us of 
 the old religious music to which we have listened in the Italian 
 churches — a few simple notes, long drawn, deliciously blended, 
 swelling into a rich, full, an^vperfect harmony, and melting into 
 the soul. 
 
20 SOURCE OF THE PLOT. 
 
 " The difference between Giorgione and Titian as ooloriats, ap- 
 pears to be this, that tlie colors of Giorgione appear as if lighted 
 ftom -within, and those of Titian as if lighted from without. The 
 epithet of fiery or gbnemg would apply to Giorgione; the epithet 
 of golden would express the predominant hues of Titian." 
 
 MemfieWt "Lines of the Paimiers." 
 
 " A picture by Giorgione 
 Whose tints are truth and beauty at their best ; 
 
 And when you to Man&ini's palace go, 
 That picture (however fine the rest) 
 
 Is loveliest to my mind of all the show; 
 It may be also to your zest, 
 
 And that's the cause I rhyme upon it so ; 
 'Tis but a portrait of his son, and wife, 
 And self ; but ^ch a woman ! love in life I 
 
 Love in fiill life and length, not love ideal, 
 
 No, nor ideal beauty, that fine name, 
 But something better still, so very real. 
 
 That the sweet model must have been the same : 
 A thing that you -would purchase, beg, or steal, 
 
 ' Wer't not impossible, besides a shame : 
 The face recalls some face, as 'twere with pain, 
 You once have seen, but ne'er will see again ; 
 
 One of those forms which flit by us, when we 
 Are young, and fix our eyes on every face ; 
 
 And, oh ! the loveliness at times we see 
 In momentary gliding, the soft grace. 
 
 The youth, the bloom, the beauty which agree. 
 In many a nameless being we retrace, 
 
 Whose course and home we know not, nor shaU know, 
 
 Like the lost Pleiad seen no more below." 
 
 " I know nothing of pictures myself and care about as little ; but 
 to me there are none like the Venetian — above all Giorgione. I 
 remember his ' Judgment of Solomon,' in the Mariscalchi Gallery 
 in Bologna. The real mother is beautiful, exquisitely beautiful ! " 
 
 Byron's " Letters," 1820. 
 
AUTHOK'S ADDRESS. 
 
AUTHOR'S ADDRESS. 
 
 I AM no Shakespeare, nor do I presume 
 To borrow from his excellence my cue. 
 I wear no mantle which the bard left off; 
 Nor dare I venture to walk after him 
 In his great ' footprints, lest his ghost appear. 
 And like " the majesty of buried Denmark," tell 
 Some tale to fright my blood. But I may bend 
 To his great merit ; I may doif my cap 
 And reverence the name of Avon's bard. 
 Time hath not borne upon his fleeting wings 
 The name of Shakespeare to oblivion ; 
 But Fame hath blown it through her trumpet- 
 tongue 
 To nations far and wide. And in the years 
 Which are unnumbered in the throes of Time, 
 His name will be revered ; still will the crowd 
 Which Thespis leads, aspire to eminence 
 By the majesty of his wit. 
 
 I come not with a Roman great in arms, 
 Browned in the service of the commonwealth ; 
 
24 AUTHOR'S ADDRESS. 
 
 I bring no statesman, like old Eichelieu, 
 
 To outwit treason, and protect the state; 
 
 I'll show no savage Tarquin, Borgia, or Macbeth, 
 
 Nor Timon, Eichard, or the jealous Moor, 
 
 To rant before you, — I've another aim. 
 
 I bring before you one of gentle -mould, 
 
 A man whose merit should be known to you; 
 
 A painter — one who had a poet's soul, 
 
 Was earnest, honest, super-excellent, 
 
 Magnanimous as man, noble in love, 
 
 And dignified by that grand principle, 
 
 A grateful heart — a condescending soul. 
 
 I have been in a garden, one most fair, — 
 
 A garden which the histrionic hosts 
 
 Have much neglected, or may not have known. 
 
 I found a flower, which, by its beauty, 
 
 Attracted my attention, and it grew 
 
 Into my love. I treasured it with care, 
 
 Because it was a rare one, excellent ; 
 
 A thing of beauty glowing in the light 
 
 Of summer life, of dignity and love ; 
 
 A thing that could not bear the freezing touch 
 
 Of discord, ignorance, dishonesty. 
 
 "A painter'^" Yes; and that you may admire 
 His noble soul, his passion for his art, 
 His hopes, his aims, his pride, his excellence. 
 He comes before you, — pray you, know him 
 well! 
 
AUTHOR'S ADDRESS. 25 
 
 " A painter ? " Yes ; but why do you repeat ? 
 As if some strange adventure was in hand ? 
 ^'Painters are so common?" Sirs, let me speak! 
 And know you this, that / speak hnowingly, 
 That he who would unite himself to Art 
 Must live with her and love, and never stray. 
 Within the precincts of his studio, 
 However poor in purse his lot may be, 
 His soul is rich and fair, and sweet, and high. 
 Though his condition may be desperate. 
 His purse untenanted, his stomach crave. 
 That he may die before his name can live 
 Or men regard him, — he must persevere. 
 For Hope is plethoric with promises 
 Of laureled-greatness ; and he must not fail. 
 But strive and strain for Immortality. 
 
 Some years ago, while busy at my work — 
 Painting a picture of some famous men. 
 Whom Venice held as honorably great — 
 I thought how seldom men esteemed in Art 
 Were made to walk the stage and fret their 
 
 hours — 
 Nay, I had never heard of such a thing! 
 And I might well believe there was no play. 
 Wherein one of those men was made to move 
 As he lived inwardly. " Suppose / write ! " 
 " But how ? " said I. " / am not qualified ! 
 I know but little of the mysteries 
 
26 AUTEOR'S ADDRESS. 
 
 Of composition — was a dunce at school — 
 And my employments have not mended me ! " 
 " A strange conceit ! " Yet while I thought of it 
 My name was called. I plainly heard a voice 
 Down in the recess of my wond'ring soul, 
 " Where there is a will there is a way ! Write ! " 
 " Did I dream ? " No, Ridolphi came to me, 
 And by his side, that interesting man, 
 Giorgione, he who loved his art, 
 And was a painter-poet. They volunteered 
 To aid me in the work. " Well, well," said I, 
 " I'll set down what you say and think of it ! " 
 Some virgin leaves I wedded to the plot, 
 Then with some other papers on the shelf 
 In my retreat I carefully bestowed them, 
 That I might work them out with proper care 
 And due elaboration. So far, all was well. 
 
 But Enterprise attracted my desire. 
 
 And Commerce promised to increase my store 
 
 If I would join the army which she led. 
 
 I followed her ; and I fought fearlessly 
 
 On doubtful days, through many hard campaigns, 
 
 While dust grew thick upon my promises — 
 
 Those left in my retreat : so years passed by. 
 
 A cloud came o'er my life : — a sad affair. 
 Heart-rending, crushing, and most terrible. 
 Happening in my house to one most near 
 
AUTHOR' a ADDRESS. 27 
 
 And dear to me left me unfit to work 
 As I proposed — for I was lonely here, 
 And all the world was empty to my heart.^ 
 No wonder, then, the plot-leaves slept secure 
 Beneath their dusty covering in my room ; 
 They might have been forgotten for all time. 
 
 One day, while rummaging among my things — 
 « Whaf s here ? My plot ? Well, I declare ! 
 If you lie longer here you'll rust away, 
 And how shall I excuse my promises 
 Made long ago ? " " Write ! write ! " the voice re- 
 plied. 
 " But how ? I have no time that I can spare ! 
 My business growing greater every day, 
 And more extensive, needs my every care ! " 
 " Write ! write ! " the voice continued ; " Write ! 
 write ! write ! " 
 
 I ventured slowly, for the way was rough. 
 Though trodden well by others, 'twas to me 
 Most roughly strewn with matter not akin. 
 Which made the journey trying, painful, long. 
 A thousand questions, workmen here and there. 
 Business, perplexities, and demands. 
 Before I could accomplish fifty lines. 
 Would try the patience of a very Job. 
 Then think of me, a man not blessed like Job ! 
 1 The insanity and death of a beloved wife. 
 
28 AUTHORS ADDRESS. 
 
 These were the thorns and flints that made the 
 
 way 
 So long and doubtful, pain&l and depressed. 
 
 But I kept on through fair and foul report ; 
 I had determined that I would go through, 
 "Would see the end, though I might never gain 
 A mill for all my pains. This my resolve, 
 I buckled on my sword and marched along; 
 And I at last rejoicing gained the end. 
 'Twas labor that I loved — weaving the web; 
 "With love I send it out — though doubtingly, 
 K it will please you as it pleases me. 
 
 But come, kind patrons, come along with me. 
 And as we journey onward through the play. 
 You'll see this painter as my fancy paints 
 And plot demands — see how he truly loved — 
 How he unselfish died. And Pity, sirs, 
 Entering the chamber of your sympathies. 
 Will ask you for a tear, to keep alive 
 The sweet remembrance of Corielli's love. 
 
PEESONS IN THE PLAT. 
 
 GIAN BELLINI, a Painter. 
 
 6I0EGI0 BAKBERELLI, caUed GIOBGIONE. 
 
 BAETOLO LOEINI, a Senator. 
 
 AEETINO, foster-brother of GIORGIONE. 
 
 MORTO DA FELTRL 
 
 TIZIANO VECELLI, caUed TITIAN. 
 
 SEBASTLiN ZUCCATO, a rich Venetian. 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 HOST. 
 
 USHER. 
 
 COEIELLI, daughter of BELLINI. 
 
 VIOLANTA, daughter of LORINI. 
 
 MAIDS to VIOLANTA. 
 
 LORDS, LADIES, CITIZENS, ete. 
 
 GIORGIONE, 
 Bom, A. D. 1478; died, A. v. 1511. 
 
ACT I 
 
 SCENE. — TREVISO AND VERONA. 
 
 " His own heart 
 Made him a poet. Yesterday to him 
 Was richer far than fifty years to come. 
 Alchemist Memory tmned his past to gold." 
 
 Alexandee Smith. 
 
GIORGIONE, 
 
 THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCteNE. — TEEVISO AND VERONA. 
 
 Scene I. — The Hills of Treviso. A Rochy Land- 
 scape. JH.me — Evening, and during a Thunder- 
 storm. 
 
 MOKTO DA FELTEI (mthimt). 
 
 What — ho! "What — ho! help! helpJ What — 
 ho ! help ! help ! 
 
 Enter Moeto da Fjei.tei. 
 
 MOETO. 
 
 I am weary, way-worn, and despairing! 
 
 And in this rocky-wild I no shelter find. 
 
 The lightning's potent flame divides the rocks. 
 
 The rocks that stood unharmed by passing storms 
 
 As ages gathered in the lap of Time. 
 
 The thunder roars, and rolls along the steep 
 
 3 
 
34 GIORGIONE, [Act I. 
 
 Intensified by Echo's angry cries. 
 
 The clouds relieved, the mountain streams enlarge 
 
 Beyond my fording. While the winds are free, 
 
 And howling, shrieking, fiercely pass me by. 
 
 Here Solitude, folding her weird-like wings, 
 
 Envelops me ; and Night, fast to my side. 
 
 Comes with her cold embrace. O Destiny ! 
 
 If 'tis thy will that I must perish here 
 
 I will submit; yet will I curse the race 
 
 That brought this woe to me. — 
 
 'Tis balsam to my soul's dismembernient ! 
 
 My limbs their office fail : — shall I, to Fate, 
 
 Eesign my sinking heart? Let her decide. 
 
 If I upon this bank, unpitied, must expire ! 
 
 [FaUs on a bank. 
 
 Help — ho! another effort — What — ho! help! 
 The hills but echo to my misery! 
 
 [Faints. 
 , Enter Giokgio. 
 
 I heard a cry, as of one needing help ! — 
 
 ^Discovers Morto. 
 
 What's here ! a man ! exhausted — perhaps dead ! 
 
 ^Examines the hody. 
 
 The heart beats; slowly, yet there is motion. 
 The vital spark is yet a tenant here. 
 What shall I do? My flask — aye, here it is! 
 Come, come, he must not perish, he must live ! 
 
 \_Giorgio gives drink to Morto, and the latter revives 
 
Scene I.] THE PAINTER OF VMNICE. 35 
 
 How is it with thee, friend ? better ? — softly ! 
 'Twere well I chanced this way and heard thy 
 
 call, 
 Or 'ere the morning dawned upon the hills. 
 Thy body would have been a lifeless thing 
 For birds and beasts of prey. Have courage, 
 
 friend ! 
 
 O why so care-encumbered on the hills? 
 
 That heavy heart of thine gives liberty 
 
 To full-breathed sighs. Have courage, friend! 
 
 O yes, my heart is heavy, sorrowful, 
 And weary of itself. O my hard fate ! 
 Exhausted nature, not mine own desire, 
 Looked here to leap into the gulf of night — 
 The never-ending night; and yonder sun. 
 Now hidden by the hills, would not return 
 With day to me, — my night would never end. 
 woe, O woe is mine ! woe is mine ! 
 That I to misery am again recalled! 
 
 [Be covers Ms face and we^s. 
 
 To die ! weary of life ! Why covet death ? 
 Thy body's but the casket of thy soul ; 
 And Heaven gave thy soul the power to rise 
 To its perfection, to exalt itself. 
 
36 GWRGIONE, [Act I. 
 
 Thy body from thy father came to thee, 
 
 Thy soul from Heaven, neither to be used 
 
 Despairingly, nor recklessly destroyed. 
 
 It is not manly so to cast it off; 
 
 And to that Love which guides the Universe, 
 
 Whose Will all Heaven sways, it is a crime ; 
 
 It is both insult and ingratitude. 
 
 And 'tis the very depth of cowardice, 
 
 To check the springs of life rather than meet 
 
 Opposing fortune, which, encountered well 
 
 And conquered nobly by a bold advance. 
 
 Is found to be a boggle, not a bear. 
 
 The lofty soul delights to conquer it, 
 
 To triumph on the ruin of its foe. 
 
 But whither art thou bound ? 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 To Verona. 
 
 GIOEGIO. 
 
 Thou art exhausted, and cannot proceed; 
 
 So in my hut thou shall repose awhile. 
 
 Lean on my arm — I'm strong ! — and to shelter 
 
 I'll guide thee. 'Tis poor, but thou art welcome; 
 
 And when thy inclination would proceed 
 
 Towards Verona, I will lead the way. 
 
 Cheerily, cheerily ! Lean on my arm ! 
 
 MOKTO. 
 
 While I am holpen, all that I can give 
 Is barren gratitude. 
 
Scene I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 37 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 That shall satisfy me ! 
 
 MOP.TO. 
 
 But I am weak ; alone, I cannot move ! 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Nay, then, I'll carry thee ! 'Twoiild be a sin. 
 Both in the sight of Heaven and my soul, 
 To leave thee here to perish all alone. 
 Cheerily, cheerily ! Here, drink again ! 
 
 [fle jioes Morto drink. 
 
 MOKTO. 
 
 Thanks, thanks! Proceed! 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Cheer ! cheer ! lean on my arm ! 
 
 [Giorgio leads Morto off the stage. 
 
38 GIORGIONE, [AoT I. 
 
 Scene n. — Interior of a Shepherd! s Hut — Morn- 
 ing. Giorgio, Aretino, and Morto da Feltri. 
 
 If to the city of old Verona, 
 
 Thine inclination will not brook delay, 
 
 Then I will guide thee ; or, if 'tis better 
 
 In thy decision to remain with us, 
 
 We will receive thee as a brother here, 
 
 And make thee equal owner with ourselves 
 
 In what we here possess. 
 
 I pray thee, stay! 
 We'll try our best to make it pleasant here ! 
 
 A mountain life would not conform to me. 
 The busy hives, where toiling men contrive 
 The things which their necessities require, 
 Have had my study, talent, and desire. 
 If I abandon what I understand. 
 And what my nature, inclination, love. 
 Pronounces proper to my qualities, 
 
ScBara II.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 39 
 
 I don a foreign robe — nay, I am a clown, 
 Taking a chance-road, when I might pursue 
 The well-defined and direct way to gain 
 Dame Fortune's favors. I was born 'mong toil, 
 And toil will have to be my portion here. 
 
 Toil! is it toil that binds thee to the world? 
 
 Or is it for th' embellishment of man ? 
 
 Th' improvement of thy fellows ? or, thy soul 
 
 To greater, holier, sublimer purposes ? 
 
 Had thou, a shepherd, lived upon the hUls — 
 
 Those hills which stand as monuments of Time, 
 
 Enjeweling our native Italy — 
 
 Those hUls which get Apollo's lusty kiss, 
 
 As from the glowing East he drives grim Night 
 
 And its myrmidons hence, while yet the vale 
 
 Sleeps undisturbed below — and gifted been 
 
 With soul to see the glory everywhere, 
 
 Thy love had been as loud as this of mine. 
 
 The sun, arising — ^such perceptions thine 
 
 Of Heaven's goodness and sublime design. 
 
 Would swell thy soul to overflowing praise ; 
 
 Then, as the day grew old, thy thoughts would dwell 
 
 Upon His mercy; and when evening came, 
 
 Thine own dependence and infirmity 
 
 Would draw thy soul to trust to Heaven's Love. 
 
 The anthem which great Nature hath composed 
 
 She would rehearse to thee, ravishing thy soul 
 
40 G I ORG I ONE, [Act I. 
 
 With sublime harmony, till resounding 
 Throughout the wide vault of the azure sky 
 The Light of Heaven would be clear to thee. 
 The seasons, revolving from year to year, 
 Would, as they came, discover thy good heart, 
 And in their passing leave it much improved. 
 The infant Spring with smiles and promises 
 Would wind about thee with his sweet embrace. 
 And lead thee in high glee to feel again 
 Thine own sweet childhood, that dear sunny 
 
 time. 
 Then Summer glorious, like a maiden crowned 
 Just from the altar and a virgin wife. 
 Would draw thy soul away from stolid things 
 To her dear presence; she would lead thee forth 
 Upon her verdant carpets, which are flecked 
 With precious things and sweet — gems glowing, 
 
 rich, 
 Which should not be compared with that dull 
 
 gold 
 Which nien strive to possess— 7I mean that gold 
 Which for itself alone men sacrifice 
 All hope of Heaven, all respect of men. 
 But growing in thine heart the love of God, 
 Things which were common in thy boyish days. 
 The wild-flowers of the mountain — look ! look ! 
 They are not common ! See the grandeur there ! 
 The handiwork of God! The grand display 
 Thy admiration would make plethoric, 
 
Scene II.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 41 
 
 And new delight in every fresh advance 
 Would find no end to marvel or to love. 
 Then Autumn, tinted with Apollo's dyes, 
 Bending beneath his load of precious things 
 For man and beast to live — the perfect love, 
 The gift of Nature, from all Nature's God! 
 What shall I say of Winter ? for he comes 
 Shivering with cold. Look ! he hath jewels 
 Like diamonds and pearls depending from his 
 
 beard, 
 Which the savage North hath iced from his 
 
 breath ; 
 Though cold without there is a glow within ! 
 O, I have sat before a blazing fire 
 On a winter night gazing intently 
 Upon the curling flame as high it leaped, 
 And heard its music as it passed away 
 Into the dome of night ! 
 My soul enstranged by tiny spirit forms 
 From things substantial lived in Fairyland, 
 And saw the gambols of the elfin crowd 
 That peopled all the realm. And as I sat, 
 Myself forgetting, I did not heed the storm 
 That loudly reveled in the outside air, 
 The charm was so complete and powerftd. 
 I love my mountain home ! I love my life ! 
 Had thy lot been as mine, with equal love 
 Enveloping thy soul, thy praise would rise, 
 And be as constant as the needle's point 
 
42 G I ORG 1 ONE, [Act I, 
 
 Is northward to the pole — the seaman's guide 
 
 To safely land his cargo. I so love 
 
 My life, the hills, all nature. Nature's God! 
 
 A mountain life possesses many charms; 
 
 A city also hath some pleasant things 
 
 Which I remember ; therefore blame me not 
 
 If I prefer to live within its walls. 
 
 And thou, methinks, will find a new delight, 
 
 If in a city destiny should place 
 
 Thy life and purpose, passion and desire. 
 
 There things will greet thee, which will start 
 
 anew 
 Thy comprehending love ; for sights and sounds 
 Which live upon the trail of enterprise 
 Have there their centre. There, Perseverance 
 With blazing torch will lead the true heart on 
 To grand success, — to fortune, and to fame. 
 There, Art is fostered ; there, the talent blooms 
 That might have withered had it stood alone. 
 Nature may plant great talents in a man. 
 Which lacking proper culture may not grow, 
 But prove a burden which the passing time 
 Will carry to oblivion. 
 But if 'tis married to a rising soul. 
 One that would trample down the barricades 
 Which fronts the marcher on the way to Fame, 
 It is a jewel and worth possessing. 
 
SCEKE II.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 43 
 
 And in a city such a jewel grows 
 
 By sample, precept, and necessity ; 
 
 It gathers lustre from surrounding lights, 
 
 To give again a purer, brighter flame 
 
 For man's advantage and for man'# delight. 
 
 Then what we own, or what we grow to love, 
 
 Stands first in estimation. Let us feel 
 
 That we respect the loves of other men, 
 
 Before we look for their's to 'bide with us. 
 
 Thy love, the mountain ; mine, a city -life. 
 
 It has of late crept into my desire. 
 That I might in a city love to dwell ; 
 There, at some manly labor occupied. 
 By means of which to live, 1 might obtain 
 Knowledge of Art, the city, and mankind. 
 
 Then let Verona have the preference; 
 
 And come with me, the venture will be safe. 
 
 Thou hast subdued me, or rather conquered 
 The half-won battle inclination fought 
 Against the love I cherish for the hills. 
 Verona shall baptize me ! There I'll go. 
 And satisfy my longing appetite 
 To see the city, the boasted city! 
 
44 GIORGIONE, [Act I. 
 
 MOKTO. 
 
 'Tis well resolved ! And from this time forward 
 
 Thy noble disposition shall command 
 
 My service and my life. I do admire 
 
 A noble man !» And I confess to thee, 
 
 That I shall lose the weight of my despair 
 
 In thy great heart's confidence and power. 
 
 Thy inexperience of a city life, 
 
 To fully compass all thy purposes, 
 
 Will need my care, direction, and esteem: 
 
 Command me always. 
 
 I thank thee, brother ! 
 I shall be proud if I can earn thy love. 
 An honest man, though he may toil in pain, 
 Hath God's protection; kings can have no more. 
 
 Honesty is well ; but a brother's love 
 
 Should stand the test of time and circumstance. 
 
 For brothers should be one in heart and deed. 
 
 Strike one, the other feels the blow as keen 
 
 As if 'twere dealt to him. What one enjoys 
 
 The other will be pleased with. Neither keeps 
 
 A watch upon the other, save to guard 
 
 Against the accidents and ills of life 
 
 His brother's form; and each will with his life 
 
 Defend the other's honor. And 1 say. 
 
Scene II.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 45 
 
 A brother will not keep Ms hrother long 
 Beyond the palings of Ms confidence. 
 
 Thy timely speech reminds me forcibly, 
 That I am but a stranger on the hills. 
 My name, position, fortune, and my crime, 
 Are all unknown to you. / am a wretch ! 
 Draw near to me and hear my narrative. 
 
 I am of Feltri, and my proper name 
 
 Is Pietro Luzzo ; but necessity, 
 
 Of which I will inform you in my tale, 
 
 Compels me to adopt a sobriquet 
 
 Whereby I may be known. Then let it be 
 
 Morto da Feltri, — so I would be called. 
 
 My parents were not blessed with affluence, 
 But strove against the march of poverty — 
 A constant fight, and bravely carried on. 
 They were both careful and affectionate. 
 My father, silvered by his weight of years, 
 "Was eminently worthy, of my love. 
 My mother — mother ! Heaven bless her soul ! 
 For there she went before I knew her love ! 
 My sister, my senior by some two years. 
 Was fair to look on, with a goodly heart 
 And cheerful disposition. We were all. 
 My father, sister, and myself, that dwelt 
 
46 GIORGIONE, [Act I. 
 
 Within the threshold of our humble home. 
 I, an artisan ; and the need was felt, 
 That I should labor with assiduous care, 
 That my poor father should not want for bread 
 In the winter of his life. 
 
 A cottage-home, one modest as our means. 
 In which we were industrious and esteemed. 
 We murmured not when Want entered our house, 
 As oft she did when Labor failed to guard. 
 We bore its presence with grim fortitude. 
 Well knowing that the time would come again 
 When Labor would relieve us of the pest. 
 
 But Fate had ordered that our pride should fall. 
 
 O spiteful Fate ! A cloud of horrors grew 
 
 Above our heads, 
 
 Which she could loose upon us at her will! 
 
 She lopped the lashings, and released the storm. 
 
 When we surrounded by the deepest gloom 
 
 Of desolating storm could nothing do 
 
 But bend our heads to our necessities. 
 
 A raging fever kept me on my bed 
 
 A nerveless man. The storm was fierce and dark ; 
 
 We could not ward it oS nor shield ourselves. 
 
 Our little store, amassed by frugal thrift, 
 
 Soon went to furnish our necessities, 
 
 And left the future with a gloomy face. 
 
 Yet would my sister toil with zealous hope 
 
ScEHE II.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. 47 
 
 To conquer Want, which on the threshold stood 
 Glaring upon us with its fangs exposed. 
 
 Each day's gray dawning brought us no relief, 
 
 But made the gloom more heavy, painful, dull, 
 
 Than did its predecessor ; and I sank 
 
 More helpless in the abyss of despair 
 
 With every visitation. 
 
 My sister, too, began to show the marks 
 
 Of that intense devotion to the task 
 
 She had imposed upon her gentleness — 
 
 The care of us, my father and myself. 
 
 At last her health gave way ; then all were gone. 
 
 And Death confronted us with ghastly glare. 
 
 I could not move, my sister daily sank. 
 
 My father with his years was powerless. 
 
 And all our stock consumed, — what could we do ? 
 
 We could not beg. O no, we could not beg ! 
 
 What! Charity! that word now hugs my throat! 
 
 One day my sister from our cottage went. 
 Whither we knew not, neither did we know 
 For what her going. Being gone, what agony 
 The period of her absence ! Though not long. 
 Each moment multiplied its doubts and fears 
 Ten thousand times ; which, multiplied again. 
 Became a multitude of monster years. 
 To which an endless train of fears adhered. 
 A gloom impenetrable, dull, and cold. 
 
48 GIORGIONB, [Act I. 
 
 Affrighted me, with no release or light 
 Apparent to my soul. 
 
 She came, and with her the young patrician, 
 
 The last inheritor of Monti's name, 
 
 The final prop of an illustrious house ; 
 
 He saw our need, and straightway gave relief, 
 
 Which he continued with a lavish care 
 
 Till Health resumed her throne within our 
 
 home. 
 I then to labor went with steady will 
 To earn the bread of life ; scorning the dole, 
 We in our sickness gratefully received. 
 
 My sister grew more lovely every day, 
 And the rich luster of her kindly soul 
 Made sunshine where she went. 
 And oft the young patrician to our cot 
 Was welcomed as our savior ; and he came 
 Not empty handed, but with such presents 
 As suited to my sister's mode of life ; 
 While I was not forgotten. One whole year 
 Unsullied happiness was in our house. 
 
 One night, since which the moon hath scarcely 
 
 done 
 Her nightly journey for the seventh time, 
 When from the shrine whereat I knelt in prayer, 
 I turned away to seek repose at home. 
 
Scene H.J THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 49 
 
 Near by the entrance a low whispering 
 
 Arrested my advance ; so low, withal, 
 
 And yet so sweet and full of tenderness 
 
 'Twere wonder that I heard it, — nor had I, 
 
 But those familiar tones revealed the forms 
 
 The blanket of the night hid from my view. 
 
 My sister and young Monti did converse ! 
 
 Her voice and manner told the truth to me ! 
 
 His power was complete, and she, alas ! 
 
 Received a further promise — given her 
 
 To quiet all her fears. What! our friend a thief! 
 
 The very beauty — grace of maidenhood, 
 
 "Was stolen from her — stolen hy a friend ! 
 
 I held my passion by a giant will. 
 
 Determined that an honorable end 
 
 Should issue from the chaos. 
 
 At length they parted; and my sister went 
 
 Within our dwelling, where I followed her 
 
 With thoughts more gloomy than I care to own. 
 
 Next day, as was his wont, young Monti came. 
 I charged him with the crime, and did demand 
 An instant reparation or his life. 
 Derisive laughter answered my demand; 
 It woke a demon power in my blood, 
 Which adding fury to my well-trained limbs 
 Combined in madness; I closed upon him, 
 And in my fury dashed him to the earth. 
 It was an awful crash, and stove his brain ! 
 
 4 
 
50 GIORGIONE, [Act I. 
 
 He was a corpse, my sister little more. 
 
 I fled from Feltri, fled I knew not where ; 
 
 Devoid of purpose, and a wanderer, 
 
 With misery complaining at my heart, 
 
 And flying from the vengeance of the law; — 
 
 I was accursed, and blood was on my soul ! 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Thy vengeance was secure! 
 
 Yet I repent 
 That I did kill him ; for by so killing, 
 I closed the gate forever to reform. 
 My father and my sister may be dead ! 
 O, I have called down curses on myself. 
 For letting loose the torrent of my wrath ; 
 But if repentance will amend my heart. 
 And wipe the stain of blood from off" my soul, 
 I will hereafter pray instead of curse. 
 
 Thy resolution is commendable. 
 
 I hope thy penitence may get thee peace. 
 
 Forever let the subject be at rest ; 
 The future must attest mine honesty. 
 Now, for Verona! 
 
SOEHB n.] THE PAINTER OP VENICE. 51 
 
 Aye, for Verona! 
 Come, Aretino, we go together! 
 From childhood we have never been apart. 
 We cannot now divide — we still are brothers ! 
 And as we gamboled in our infant life, 
 And built our castles — though they were in air 
 They had the power of contributing 
 To our enjoyment. May not those we build 
 Be ours in common ? Come, Aretino, 
 Let that old feeling never be destroyed! 
 
 As I have been thy brother to this hour, 
 Let me continue — nay, improve in love, 
 That I may be a light for other men. 
 Who may in after years hear of our bond. 
 
 GIOBGIO. 
 
 Truly, a brother! 
 
 ABETINO. 
 
 Trusting I defending ! 
 
 Forever ! 
 
 GIOBCIO. 
 AKETmO. 
 
 Forever ! 
 
62 GIOBGIONE, [Act I. 
 
 I'll join the bond ! 
 And swear that we forever will be one ! 
 Now, for Verona! 
 
 Ho! for Verona! 
 
 [Eaevmt. 
 
SoBirai m.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 53 
 
 Scene III. — The Public Square in Verona. 
 Enter Bastolo Lohihi, and Gian BBLum. 
 
 We must relinquish this laborious search ; 
 Though with it fades the hope that my lost son 
 May once again be held upon my heart 
 In filial endearment. 
 
 Paulo was false. 
 Why not again mix in conspiracy, 
 And conjure up a tale to hide his sin? 
 
 I see not where it could advantage him, 
 Knowing he must die: the law would not release 
 The felon from his doom. I must believe. 
 
 Again relate the story. We may gain 
 Some landmark not extinct, which may lead 
 To the recovery of the lost one. 
 
54 GIORGIONE, [Act I. 
 
 BAKTOLO. 
 
 Some sixteen years ago, I did embark 
 
 With merchandise upon old Neptune's main, 
 
 And distant ports attracted my desire; 
 
 They promised largely to increase my wealth, 
 
 Which then was princely — Venice had not one 
 
 Could boast a nobler name, a prouder place. 
 
 My palace, wife, and child, I did intrust 
 
 To my half-brother's care ; whom I esteemed 
 
 A man of proper love and honesty. 
 
 One stormy night, one dismal as the doom 
 
 Of Winter's fierce and foul extremity, 
 
 A messenger hailing from Verona 
 
 Knocked at the palace gate. The sound awoke 
 
 The drowsy sentinel, who hastened forth 
 
 To answer the alarm. He found a man, 
 
 With evidence of toil and sweaty speed. 
 
 Seeking an audience of my countess-wife. 
 
 He had despatches, said to be from me, 
 
 Entreating her to come without delay 
 
 To my assistance, care, and benefit. 
 
 Fearing some evil had o'ertaken me. 
 
 And at the instance of my relative, 
 
 She turned her back to Venice for a time. 
 
 And ill-provided for the accidents 
 
 Which might assail her on the doubtful way. 
 
 She left the city on a gloomy day. 
 
 While on the hills, Treviso's rocky heights, 
 
 They were surrounded by a band of thieves, — 
 
Scene HI.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. 55 
 
 BELLINI. 
 
 Of which the rascal Paulo was the chief! 
 
 BABTOLO. 
 
 'Twas he that was to murder my poor boy. 
 My relative proposed it, paid the price, — 
 
 BELLINI. 
 
 And Paulo had it from the villain's hand ! 
 
 BABTOtO. 
 
 I said they were surrounded by the band. 
 They were surprised, and while th' confusion 
 
 reigned 
 This Paulo stole the child and hurried off 
 Towards the mountain wilds, there to dispatch 
 Th' inhuman act and prevent discovery. 
 He did not slay the child; he was afraid 
 That blood would stain his soul. He left it there. 
 A storm then raging on the rocky heights 
 Brought terror to his heart. He saw a fiend 
 Behind, before, by every stone, on every crag. 
 That yelled and howled and grinned and glared at 
 
 him. 
 And drove him to an ignominious flight. 
 Anon, his conscience crying to his soul, 
 Impelled him to return to save the child 
 From perishing. Alas ! he was too late, 
 The child was gone, it was not to be found. 
 
56 GIORGIONE, [Act I. 
 
 Since then, a mmor telling how the boy- 
 Was by a shepherd found, came to his ear ; 
 But what his name, or where he could be found 
 No tidings could be had. There ends the tale. 
 
 ' BELLINI. 
 
 Our search hath been with diligence — 
 
 BAETOLO. 
 
 I'm sure ! 
 
 And though Success hath not rewarded us. 
 She may not hold her favors far away. 
 
 I hope — and yet, at times, hope seems to fade ! 
 
 See yonder men! those three that come this way! 
 
 Verona was not father to their blood, 
 
 They are too manly. Stand aside, and hear! 
 
 [BdMni amd Bartolo retire up the stage. 
 
 Enter Gioegio, Aeetiko, and Moeto. 
 
 MOETO. 
 
 Did I not promise thee a grand surprise ? 
 And said I not the city would seduce — 
 Would make thee recreant to thy native hills? 
 
Scene III.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 67 
 
 My native hills will always have my love ! 
 Although some new profession I pursue, 
 My mother-nature will still cling to me, 
 And teach me love for eveththing I see. 
 To learn the arts of men, I entered here ; 
 Not to forget the hills, my life, my love! 
 
 Well, here we are, strangers in the city! 
 In which to live, 'tis plain that we must toil, 
 Therefore choose, I pray thee, some profession 
 Congenial to thy heart. Maintain thyself! 
 
 So would I live ! Who would be a sluggard. 
 When Heaven in its goodness gave him strength 
 For life's achievement ? I am not the man ! 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 Then boldly venture what thy wishes are. 
 
 OIOEOIO. 
 
 Saw you, sirs, in the church of San Pietro, 
 Above the altar, that grand masterpiece — 
 Bellini's triumph? what a noble thing! 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 Aye, who admires not Bellini's excellence ? 
 
58 GIOBGIONE, [Act I. 
 
 OIOBGIO. 
 
 Admires ! 0, reverence is due to greatness ! 
 He is a master, sir, who can conceive 
 And guide his pencil to develop forms 
 So truly grand and lifelike ! Nay, to me, 
 They think and speak, and act accordingly ! 
 
 MORTO. 
 
 Thou art much moved by this greft master-work! 
 
 O, that's too poor a word ! and I marvel 
 If in our language could be found a word. 
 Or combination, that would well express 
 The admiration which my soul contains 
 For this Bellini. I could worship him ! 
 I wonder as I gaze upon his work 
 If he is human, or a cloud-crowned god ; 
 For, surely, sir, no man could execute 
 A thing so grand. He surely is a god! 
 Could I command my hand to execute — 
 Vain fancy ! Yet may I not accomplish 
 By a persistence, by a steady will, 
 What I desire ? Surely, I may succeed ! 
 
 'Tis much beyond our reach and present need 
 To covet such a power. Bethink thee, 
 Bellini hath his studio in Venice ! 
 
Scene in.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 59 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Some drudgery TU do, to gain the means 
 To carry me, for my ambition hence 
 Is centered in Bellini's confidence. 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 Our fates are joined ! 
 
 ABETINO. 
 
 Our love cannot divide ! 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Our friendship is forever! 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Forever ! 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 And what profession does my brother choose ? 
 
 Were I in service, in rich livery, 
 Moving within these courtly palaces, 
 I should be well content ; yet quarrel not 
 With anything that fete may bring to me. 
 
 Bellisi and Barxolo come forward. 
 
 BELLIKI. 
 
 Good day, good people ! Whither are ye bound ? 
 
60 GIORGIONE, [Acrr I. 
 
 GIOEGIO. 
 
 In search of occupation, noble sir. 
 
 BEIililHI. 
 
 Thou art a comely youth ; and I, forsooth, 
 Would now indorse thine honesty and thrift! 
 
 Doubtless I may have those fine qualities. 
 But may not boast of them, lest I be found 
 Not gold when tried. What would you, sir, of us ? 
 
 Thy looks and carriage make me think thee fit 
 To enter my employment. 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 But, my friends? 
 
 BAETOLO (to AKETINO). 
 
 This youth will find in my establishment 
 His wish complied with; let him come to me. 
 
 The rest in mine. Now, all being well engaged. 
 By your leave, we will proceed to Venice. 
 
 AEETDIO (to BABTOLO). 
 
 How shall I know you, sir? and what's your 
 place ? • 
 
SOEKB m.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 61 
 
 BABTOLO. 
 
 Bartolo Lorini, a senator. 
 
 [Arelino, Giorgio, and Morto, doff their caps and salute him 
 
 GIORGIO (<0 BELLIKI). 
 
 And yours? 
 
 BELIylin. 
 
 Gian Bellini. 
 
 GIOBGIO. 
 
 Gian Bellini ! 
 Am I not dreaming? Gian Bellini! 
 
 [Pictwre — The Surprise of Giorgio. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
ACT II. 
 
 SCENE. — VENICE. 
 
 " When morn awakes against the dark wet earth, 
 Back to the mom she laughs with dewy sides, 
 Up goes her voice of larks ! With like effect. 
 Imagination opened on his life. 
 It lay all lovely in that rarer light." 
 
 Alexajsdeb Smith. 
 
SCEHB I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 65 
 
 ACT n. 
 
 SCENE.— VENICE. 
 
 Scene I. — • BeUini 's 
 
 Enter Bellibi, followed by Baetolo. 
 
 BAKTOLO. 
 
 Nat, Bellini! I protest thou art rude! 
 Because thou art thyself well versed in Art, 
 Art thou to sit in judgment over men ? 
 And will hot stoop to what another loves? 
 Will not concede another should be judge 
 Wherein what pleaseth him? 
 
 Good Bartolo! 
 It is not well to so exalt a man. 
 That his pride may become a stinking weed — 
 That he may get himself indiflference — 
 That he may cease to exercise his care — 
 That he thereby his cunning hand negliect, 
 And lose his passion for the beautiful. 
 5 
 
66 GIORGIONE, [Act .II. 
 
 For when the Truth in her white mantle comes 
 
 Upon the ramparts of his fancied strength, 
 
 She'll show the timber rotten under him, 
 
 And pending ruin may affnght his soul 
 
 Or drive it to despair. 
 
 'Tis ill-advised ; and in the sight of genius 
 
 Lacks honesty, to hold as excellence 
 
 The thing deformed. 
 
 Bellini is approved ; 
 He is intensely proud, because this youth 
 Is under him a pupil in the Arts. 
 And I believe the pupil is approved 
 By his great master ; and I also think 
 That I may trust the pupil with my love. 
 He loves Bellini, and Bellini loyes — 
 How now, Bellini ! does that point touch you ? 
 
 I cannot hide what is so plainly seen. 
 I will not seek to turn the flood aside 
 That wets my land. I will not cut a way- 
 To drown my neighbor while I save myself 
 Giorgione hath a soul — a lofty one ! — 
 One that is foreign to a selfish thought! 
 His modest disposition, manly soul, 
 Besides the glory which he seeks to gain 
 In his profession, marks him for my love. 
 
Scene.!.] TBE PAINTER OT VENICE. ,67 
 
 I would with confidence direct his course, — 
 
 Would give him counsel, that he may avoid 
 
 The rocks and shoals that circumvent the ship 
 
 Which his Art-love directs ; — would start him fair. 
 
 That he may guard against the syren charms 
 
 Wliich everywhere abound, inviting him 
 
 To their false haven, to engulf his love. 
 
 Or, as the gardener — one who delights 
 
 In his profession, who for very love 
 
 Observes the season — knows the proper time 
 
 To thrust the seed into the warming soil. 
 
 Wherein it sucks as in a mother's womb 
 
 The nourishment of life — anon to come. 
 
 Tender and doubtful as a new-born babe, 
 
 A stem into the light of living day ; 
 
 'Tis then his pride begins to show itself, — 
 
 He marks its tender youth, and from the chills 
 
 Of doubtful spring, of hurricane and storm, 
 
 He guards it carefully, — and as it grows, 
 
 If it should tend to evil or rebel. 
 
 Or go outside of .grace, get slovenly. 
 
 Or sicken in the shade, burn in the sun, 
 
 Or get wet feet or cold, have fever chills, 
 
 Or wither in the leaf for want of rain, 
 
 Or mildew, parasite, or blight appear — 
 
 The thousand ills which aim at its young life 
 
 He 'manages with skill diseeriuble. 
 
 Its follies chastened with a father!s care. 
 
 And this is done, that when the flower blooms 
 
68 GIORGIONE, [Act II. 
 
 It may be perfect and reward his care., 
 And iso would I the seed of Art imbed 
 In this man's soul — would guard him from the 
 
 ills 
 Which wait to pounce upon him, to destroy 
 The fabric of his glory ere it blooms. 
 I'd watch it grow from tender infancy 
 To manly vigor ; I would see it bloom. 
 I'd see him mount to Fortune — hear the sound 
 Which Fame will send abroad; for what he 
 
 gains 
 Detracts not from Bellini, but exalts. 
 
 BARTOLO. 
 
 Bellini being approved and at the head 
 Of living painters, would have Giorgio 
 Exceed himself ; and that without a fear 
 That his own sun will dim or disappear. 
 I know his excellence and honor it, 
 While I admire Giorgione's growing skill. 
 Have I not stood before Giorgione's work. 
 And seen the deep and tender sentiment 
 Living in beauty, harmony, and light, 
 Which like a dream would creep into my soul 
 And fill it with enchantment — when thy tongue 
 Would call me from the vision I enjoyed. 
 To hear thee rating him for some slight fault 
 Which I had overlooked? 
 
Scene I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 69 
 
 BELLIHI. 
 
 I would the plant's indifference cut down; 
 I would not have it wither, blight, or starve, 
 But I would have it perfect in its parts — 
 Yea, very perfection when the bloom expands ! 
 
 I thought Bellini's tongue at such a time 
 Forgot the gen'rous impulse of his soul, 
 And feared the tyrant would engender hate. 
 
 I crave your pardon ! but you have to learn 
 That greatness is not made of careless stuff. 
 Nor yet the consequence of accident. 
 I know that men will often so pronounce — 
 Will charge it to that rascal Fortune's child, - 
 Some call him " Lucky Chapman" I believe ! 
 We hear of him, and often see his pranks, — 
 How he will lodge beside a common man. 
 One who possesses not a grain of soul 
 For what is noble, excellent, or grand; 
 Not that he loves him or expects to gain, 
 But that his frolickings may have a point. 
 An object for his mirth, mischief, or rage. 
 He takes another from the purse-proud race 
 And sets him at the bar an advocate. 
 Or on the bench, or in the pulpit raise. 
 Though he may not possess a pennyweight 
 
70 GIORGIONE, [Act II. 
 
 Of common sense — ■ that 's one of his queer jokes. 
 
 Another from the- anvil, or the wheel, 
 
 The loom, the chiselj plough, or threshing-floor, 
 
 To daub him o'er with favors or endow, — 
 
 But greatness is not a sojourner here, 
 
 Chance may be said to own the premises. 
 
 Or patronage, impertinence, or vanity. 
 
 But setting speculation on the shelf, 
 
 And coming to the real events of life, 
 
 "We find that patience, pleading, constant care, 
 
 And never-failing love are needed here, 
 
 To fully enthrone and establish power, — 
 
 To make a man — a noble, godlike man ! — 
 
 At least, that was my venture — my advance. 
 
 There was a student in my father's house, 
 
 Who said unto himself, "How great I am!" 
 
 And proudly would he look upon himself, 
 
 And proudly think that Fame held o'er his head 
 
 The laurel of the great and excellent — 
 
 That he was her especial favorite — 
 
 That he was surely worthy of the crown. 
 
 But when his master came to see the work, 
 
 The vision could not stay before his Ught; 
 
 A woful discord grew, things not akin 
 
 Bedimmed the picture, — it was incomplete. 
 
 Perfection was not there ; pride was rebuked. 
 
 He saw the truth, and forthwith made amends. 
 
 It was the just reproof which made him strong. 
 
 And led him on to win a name in Art. 
 
SOEHB I.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. 71 
 
 And the genius of this same Giorgio, 
 
 If not perverted from its proper course, 
 
 Will gain a proud position for itself. 
 
 Then let me say, I would not have him praised, 
 
 Nor censured either, by a careless word, 
 
 A doubtful phrase, an empty compliment. 
 
 A man should know himself — then other men, 
 
 That charity may teach him to respect 
 
 And counsel freely. I would lead him on. 
 
 Perfection is not credited to man ; 
 
 Nor may he gain it, though he strive for aye, 
 
 BELLINI. 
 
 A trite observance! But shall we delay 
 The effort to obtain it ? or dismiss 
 Our hope because it is so ? Never, sir ! 
 
 Yet when we judge a work we look for that, 
 And if not there condemn it. What say you ? 
 
 That is not fair. A thing that pleases you 
 Carries its value — is the very thing 
 That prompts enjoyment, tends to excellence, 
 Though it may be imperfect in its parts. 
 
 EAKTOLO. 
 
 But Ignorance and Spleen will often criticize. 
 
72 GIORGIONE, i[ACT JJ. 
 
 BELLim. 
 
 Nay, not criticize: that means honesty. 
 Though they may stick their filth-encrusted 
 
 teeth 
 Into the sweet-ripe fruit, and make believe 
 The things are sour, rank, unpalatable stuff, 
 It does not follow that they are so foul 
 To finer palates. Do they not exalt 
 What is contemptible? what is most vile? 
 Give they not loud applause to villainy ? 
 Garnish they not their statements, make them 
 
 look 
 So fair to common minds — to simple souls 
 That never tasted of the excellence 
 Beneath the skin — to minds incompetent 
 To tell what is offensive, what is foul. 
 What is exalted, what should be enjoyed, — 
 That they may wing the lie ? It is a sin 
 To screen dishonesty or 'bide with it. 
 Is he your friend, who seeks by flattery 
 To gain upon your heart? and for the sake 
 Of not offending sensibility 
 Will violate the truth ? And, by the way. 
 That shrinking, trembling sensibility 
 Is well incorporated with the stuff 
 Of which the men are made that fpUow Art ' 
 But to continue, sir. 
 
 Is he your enemy that tells you to your face 
 Wherein your fault lies, that you may amend? 
 
SCESB I.] TBE PAINTER OF VENICE. 73 
 
 Is he your enemy that tells you to your face 
 Olympus never crowned you or endowed, 
 IF merit does not stand beside your love ? 
 Then let ,me say, sir, and observe the point, 
 That when we criticize our neighbor's work, 
 We should be courteous, Isind, have charity. 
 If we would have our judgment unimpugned. 
 
 Were Giorgio mine own, mine only son, 
 I could not love him better than I do ; 
 Nor would I more defend him or advise, 
 Nor less admire his gentleness of soul. 
 
 His noble heart hath gained my confidence ! 
 Think not that I am selfish of your praise. 
 Or envious of his worth, when I reprove : — 
 Bellini will not flatter or mislead. 
 A man may hear him criticize, and know 
 A friend is by him, one who loves the Arts. 
 But I have marked for a proud position 
 This excellent young man. Look in my face, 
 And see where Time hath left his signatiure. 
 My form is not as buoyant as of old. 
 Nor full of warm young blood, nor jubilant ; 
 But with thin blood it tends towards the dust 
 From whence it came ; and when it sleeps in 
 peace — 
 
74 GI ORGS ONE, [Act U. 
 
 When these old hones are mouldering away — 
 He who succeeds me should be well approved 
 And own Bellini!s influence led him on. — 
 And I have chosen- Giorgio as the man. 
 
 Thy choica is good: Venice will indorse it. 
 But hath thy judgment so befriended thee, 
 That Venice hath not hidden from thy sight 
 The unity of those whom we saw pledge 
 Eternal friendship? how they ratify? 
 
 Verona's pledge is sacred to their hearts; 
 No force can e'er divide it ; no event 
 Depress their confidence, or kill their' love. 
 See where they walk. I pray you, stand aside. 
 
 [^Bellim and Bartolo retire up the stage. 
 
 Enter Giorgio, Aebtino, and Mokto. 
 
 Venice is passing rich — is beautiful ! 
 A queen! a very queen upon the main!' 
 And her law-loving subjects cheerfully 
 Obey her mandates, bringing to her wharves 
 The richest treasures of the Universe ! 
 
 mokto. 
 And first among her most devoted men, 
 
SCEHE I.] TBE PAINTER OF VENICE. 75 
 
 I see Giorgione offer her his love. — 
 Aye, all to her ! 
 
 AKETIHO. 
 
 And nothing to his friends ! . 
 
 You both misjudge my heart and wrong your- 
 selves, 
 By questioning my love, my friendship, or my faith. 
 My worthy brothers — most excellent men ! — 
 And my esteemed good master Gian Bellini, 
 Not only claim but have the largest part 
 Of my soul's admiration and regard. 
 
 AEETINO. 
 
 I was in error, and ask forgiveness. 
 
 GIOEGIO. 
 
 I am thy brother ; I find no offense. 
 
 MOKTO. 
 
 Verona's pledge shall be our Star of Hope. 
 Renew it here ! 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Let no fortune change it! 
 But let it be cemented, — stronger grow, 
 Until the heavens echo with the joy ! 
 My life is in it ! 
 
 [They join hands. 
 
76 GIORGIONE, [Act U. 
 
 ARETINO. 
 
 And mine ! 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 And Motto's 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 And forever ! 
 
 Where shall we get the value of the night ? 
 
 Thyself propose ; for where it pleases thee, 
 There we will follow. 
 
 Go we to the square 
 That's public by the pillar of St. Mark ? 
 There, we, observing each and every group 
 Of loungers, passengers, and public men 
 Gathered on the mart, may by their various 
 
 looks 
 See how fortune tries them. Or, shall we watch 
 The gay gondola from the gorgeous strand 
 Part Adriatic's flood ? and with a swan-like ■■ grace 
 Move silently and swiftly on its way, 
 "With marvelous invertation pictured 
 On the transparent deep ? Or, shall we sit 
 Upon the famed Rialto's arching brow, 
 Enchanted by the melody that floats 
 Upon the evening air? 
 
SCBKE I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 77 
 
 MORTO. 
 
 Be thou the judge. 
 But, see ! our masters come ! 
 
 Good even, sirs! 
 
 [BeVini and Bartoh come forward; Giorgio, Aretino, and 
 
 Morto salute. 
 
 I hold a feast, in honor of my child, 
 
 Whose birthday comes in with the coming month ; 
 
 It will be in my palace, which, you know. 
 
 Is near the Senate House. Venice wUl send 
 
 The noblest of her youth to grace the scene. 
 
 'Twill honor me to have your company. 
 
 With many thanks and much respect, I, for myself, 
 Must ask excuse. I cannot fairly come 
 Among your noble guests. I am not graced ; 
 My birth, my culture, quality, are all too poor; 
 They equal but my purse and homely garb. 
 I have not what's essential to be free. 
 'Twould be imprudent, perhaps impudent, 
 For me to venture, thus Ul-conditioned, 
 Beyond the threshold of my humble worth. 
 
 BABTOLO. 
 
 I honor what is noble, what is true ; 
 
78 GI ORG I ONE, [Act II. 
 
 The counterfeit despise. 
 
 Bellini has by his great excellence 
 
 Mounted the ladder of nobility — 
 
 I mean the true one — to the topmost round. 
 
 Genius, manliness, and -honesty, 
 
 Are in Lorini's palace much esteemed. 
 
 They outrank all the titles worn by men, 
 
 Who live but to display them, — those I mean, 
 
 Who are not graced with virtue, common sense, — 
 
 Who block the wheels of progress, not advance. 
 
 The jewel is the thing that we esteem, 
 
 The casket that contains it keeps it safe. 
 
 But adds no special value. 
 
 A man may revel in a wondrous wealth, 
 
 May have more gold than ever Croesus had, 
 
 May let it patter in his path like rain — 
 
 A golden wonder, — if his heart was foul. 
 
 Gold would not help him to a common chair 
 
 Within Lorini's household. There, a man 
 
 Must have what's solid and acceptable — 
 
 Humanity to man and love to God — 
 
 If he would be known as Lorini's friend. 
 
 GIOKGIO {solo). 
 
 Shall I go ? It is a bold adventure ! 
 
 {To Baktolo.) 
 I will accept — But stay, good sir, awhile, 
 My master will advise me if I go. 
 
Scene LI THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 79 
 
 BELLtSI. 
 
 'Twill be to thy advantage, to retain 
 This generous invitation. Diamonds 
 To show their beauty need some polishing; 
 And men, like diamonds, will glitter more 
 When polished by a social intercourse 
 With those who seek to elevate mankind. 
 I shall be there. Till then, farewell. 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 [Exit Bellini ami Bartolo. 
 (Solo.) 
 
 The die is cast, and I risk the winning. 
 The path is new to me, and I may fall. 
 I will adorn my person modestly, 
 And have a caution over every act, 
 That I may neither vex myself nor those 
 Who share my love. Friends ! we are out on 
 trial. 
 
 MORTO. 
 
 And much depends upon the enterprise ! 
 
 Let every man look well unto himself; 
 And let his actions properly agree 
 To such politeness as shall him insure 
 Honor and esteem. A man may enter, 
 Though his possessions be upon his back, 
 
80 GIOSQIONE, [Act II. 
 
 A multitude of nobles,' if he has 
 
 Respect of carriaige, honorable ends, 
 
 And that nobility, that true regard, 
 
 Which makes a god-like man. May we be found 
 
 Not wanting in the premises ! 
 
 All's *ell — 
 Gioneio. 
 
 That ends well/ Be it in your care. Good 
 night. 
 
Scene U.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 81 
 
 Scene II. — The Same. 
 
 Enter Gioeqio and Corielli. 
 
 A GREETING, fair lady! I must commend 
 
 Tour beauty and your grace ! Tour living smile 
 
 And excellence of heart attract my praise. 
 
 That you may be most rich in happiness 
 
 Shall be my prayer! Pardon, I pray you, 
 
 If I am venturing beyond the gate 
 
 Of my domain, and trespassing on yours. 
 
 I thank you, sir, for complimenting me. 
 
 It is a woman's weakness, loving praise. 
 
 But I would ask, if 'tis in honesty 
 
 That you pray for my good. For, look you, sir, 
 
 The outside of a man is often fair 
 
 While Satan reigns within. Are you honest? 
 
 I know that I am honest ; you shall judge. 
 Your noble father, the great Bellini, 
 Gave me admittance to his house and love. 
 He gives me counsel, and the path displays 
 6 
 
82 GIORGIONE, [Act H. 
 
 To my ambition, that I may succeed 
 
 In what I undertake or what's before. 
 
 I owe him honor, duty, gratitude — 
 
 The service of my life would not discharge 
 
 My great indebtedness. I am his slave ; 
 
 And yet my bondage I would not exchange 
 
 For mines of gold, parting his love besides. 
 
 You, like himself, add comfort to my life; 
 
 And as I owe to him I owe to you, 
 
 My service, faith — yea, everything in life. 
 
 And I will answer you respectfully. 
 
 I cannot hope that you will deign to look 
 
 On one so humble and so lowly born 
 
 As my poor self — on one whose purse is light. 
 
 Whose purse may ever be untenanted. 
 
 Tet I esteem you as above compare. 
 
 In all that makes a woman lovable, — 
 
 Modesty, intellect, and excellence, 
 
 With beauty, grace, and such rare qualities 
 
 As shall entitle you to much esteem. 
 
 I think you are an angel ! Pardon me, 
 
 If I am trespassing ! 
 
 Now, that is flattery ! rank flattery ! 
 
 But then, it is your way, to raise a thing 
 
 Of human origin and substantial 
 
 To something dream-like, an airy nothing. 
 
 Coveting which ambition is unveiled. 
 
Scene II.] TBE PAINTER OF VENICE. 83 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Mine is success in all I undertake, 
 That I may justify my master's love ; ■ 
 But to obtain the least of your regards, 
 Exceeds by far the limits of my hope. 
 
 My father holds thee high in his esteem; 
 
 And I in duty to my father's love 
 
 Must honor and esteem thee as my friend. 
 
 You, lady, are unused to toil — to such a state 
 As that from which I sprang. My origin 
 Can boast of nothing but obscurity. 
 My childhood was among the rocky wilds 
 Where I was born — a paradise to me, 
 For there the sun will shine to all my love ! — 
 My teacher — Nature, and her books ray lore. 
 My wealth is on me, and I bend not low 
 Beneath its pressure ; neither may I hope 
 To gain beyond the wants of my poor life 
 A competence. While you have been supplied 
 From the full fountain of a father's love. 
 Tou have that skill in all that will refine 
 And raise your aspirations 'bove the dross 
 Of common understanding ; and you had 
 A multitude of friends about your heart 
 Exchanging love, besides a mother's care. 
 
84 GIORGIONE, [Act II 
 
 Tour every want was cheerfully supplied 
 As soon as known, and every care was had 
 To shelter you from harm. If I could say 
 "I am your equal," then I might be proud 
 To say, "I am your friend." Not being so, 
 I am your humble servant, and I wait 
 At your command. 
 
 My father praises thee ! and in his love 
 An evil thing will die ! The soil is not 
 Congenial to indifference or deceit ! 
 And what he loves, his daughter also keeps 
 In her remembrance as a jeweled heart. 
 Venice hath good and honest hearts, I trow, 
 But not a better one than Giorgio's, 
 Nor one more worthy of my confidence ', 
 Besides, he is my father's chosen friend. 
 
 I pray you, lady, do not take a shape. 
 
 That my familiarity may grow 
 
 And blunt the sense of my indebtedness ! 
 
 I owe your father and yourself respect ; 
 
 I cannot venture further and be safe. 
 
 Yet your esteem I prize as I do life; 
 
 And it shall be a star to light my way 
 
 To win a name, — a name that will remain 
 
 When this poor flesh shall moulder in the grave. 
 
SCENB II.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 85 
 
 But pardon me ! I am too bold with you. 
 I should be more respectful. By your leave, 
 I will retire. 
 
 [Exit. 
 COKIBLLI {,aoh). 
 
 Why did he leave me so? 
 Why linger I so fondly on his words ? 
 How very strange ! his words remain with me ! 
 They seem to fill my soul with wonder and de- 
 light! 
 Esteem I him ? It must be my esteem ! 
 
 Enter Mokto da Feltki. 
 
 MOKTO. 
 
 Greeting, fair lady! 
 
 OOBIELLI. 
 
 Welcome, good signor ! 
 May I ask if you fare well in Venice ? 
 
 I shall be pleased to answer, and be frank. 
 For one in my position, I fare well ; 
 Had I a home where I might be at peace. 
 With friends around me, all would then be well ; 
 But I am houseless, friendless, as it were. 
 And lonely in the world. 
 
86 GIOBGIONE, [Act II 
 
 COBIELLI {solihguizingly). 
 
 And Giorgio ! may he not be so placed ? 
 Nor home ! nor friends ! nor companionship ! 
 A man among the hosts of living men 
 Alone and circumscribed, is strange indeed ! 
 What charm can wind about his solitude? 
 What make life sweet, or e'en desirable ? 
 The world, as it is, must be a cheerless place 
 To one so single in his passing life. 
 His enterprises, dangers, and delays — 
 Aye, his very pleasures and his fears. 
 Are but the waves that roll and tumble him 
 Upon a troubled sea — the sea of life. 
 A man of no intent, content, or love — 
 A waif, a leaf, forgotten with the hour. 
 
 I am but poorly placed, not destitute. 
 I have a purpose — have a grand intent; 
 And by my hope that I may wear the crown 
 Of proud success, I will not court despair. 
 
 But will thy purpose hold? and undeterred 
 By frown or favor, march upon the way 
 Toward success? 
 
 MOETO. 
 
 While I have life, it will! 
 
Scene II.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 87 
 
 COSIELLI. 
 
 What is it that you seek so earnestly? 
 
 Love. 
 
 COBIELLI. 
 
 Love! that's a thing you should avoid! 
 'Tis profitless to him who lacks a home 
 To shelter it. I would advise you, sir! 
 
 'Tis Cupid's ordinance : the little scamp 
 
 Makes havoc with our sensibilities. 
 
 He turns the tide of fortune from our side, 
 
 Or brings it onward; and he promises 
 
 That great advantage shall accrue to us, 
 
 If we will follow wheresoe'er he leads. 
 
 By his exceeding cunning we are foUed, 
 
 Or grandly gain. He tantalizes us, 
 
 And plays the mischief with our confidence. 
 
 He fractures hearts — so careless of his shafts, 
 
 Nor thinks, nor cares what damage may ensue. 
 
 If, ere he shoots, he would consider well 
 
 The mark he aims at, he might then decide 
 
 Upon a mating shot, and couple them. 
 
 And call in Hymen with his bandages 
 
 To heal the stricken hearts. * 
 
 But, look you, how he often hits awry, 
 
 "Wounding to the core a tender heart, 
 
88 GIORGIONE, [Act U. 
 
 Which, pining for a mate, sinks in despair. 
 'Tis pity, then, and torture, not a gift. 
 The lady that enchants me does not know 
 The power which she wields. 
 
 Doth Venice hold the maiden of your choice ? 
 
 Venetia's daughters are a queenly race, 
 And stately as their mother ! But the maid 
 "Whom I affect, stands foremost in the ranks, ■ 
 The sweetest heart in Venice ! 
 
 Sweetest heart! 
 " The sweetest heart in Venice ! " — that's to thee, 
 Being blinded to all others' qualities. 
 / may concede it ; others may protest, 
 And question thy perception. Being in love, 
 Thy judgment stumbles to give her the palm. 
 But forward, sir, there's nothing gained by sloth, 
 But disappointment and its cloud of pains. 
 Do not rely on Chance — a deluder, 
 That draws you in her car to beggary. 
 And leaves your purpose rotten ere it blooms. 
 What you desire, I hope you may acquire, 
 In that you undertake it honestly. 
 
Scene n.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. 89 
 
 MOKTO. 
 
 I thank you, lady. 
 
 BELLINI (wiihovt). 
 
 Corielli ! daughter I 
 
 COBIBLU. 
 
 I hear my father's voice. Excuse me, sir ! 
 
 [£ra(. 
 
 MOETO. 
 
 Tou are the sweet one that my heart adores ! 
 Much I would give to win you to my love. 
 
 [Emt. 
 
90 GIORGIONE, [Act H. 
 
 Scene III. — A Ohamher in Lorini's Palace. 
 
 ViOLANTA amd her maids. 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 He that my father praises so exceedingly, 
 Hath suddenly grown popular, methinks. 
 A giant stride in Venice, Giorgione takes. 
 Old Rumor, too, seems to have been suborned, 
 To laud his progress in the ways of Art. 
 She speaks of him, as if he stood alone 
 In excellence — a miracle of thrift, — 
 As if Nobility and Grace had cast 
 This Giorgio in their mould. Well ! well ! to- 
 night. 
 To-night he will be here ; then I may judge 
 If Rumor is reliable or no. 
 
 FIRST MAII). 
 
 Lady, what robe shall we prepare for you? 
 
 VIOLAHTA. 
 
 The rich one, minx ! that which my father sent, 
 
 The choicest fabric of the Orient, 
 
 The jeweled robe that hath no equal here 
 
Scene III.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. 91 
 
 In princely Venice. I will wear the robe ; 
 
 For as the sun in brilliance far excels 
 
 The light of other orbs, I would to-night 
 
 Outshine the maids of Venice. For I hold, 
 
 That as Lorini ranks among the men 
 
 Whom Venice holds as noble, first in place, 
 
 His daughter so outranks the baser crew 
 
 Of her own sex. And he will come to-night — 
 
 Giorgione ! he whom I would fascinate ! 
 
 A mountaineer ! a man from Nature's mould, 
 
 To wear so much of honor, and so soon ! 
 
 Nay, hold ! or I my judgment may entrap 
 
 Before the evidence is fairly in. 
 
 And send blind Justice 'fore my prejudice. 
 
 SECOUD MAID. 
 
 This wreath of flowers, with rich jewels mixed, 
 Will much addition give to your fair charms; 
 Or this blush rose will show a modest grace 
 And rarer love ; — pray, which do you propose ? 
 
 The wreath! the wreath! and let it blind the 
 
 maid 
 Who dares to rival my supremacy! 
 I would that I was queen of womankind, 
 With power to command the eyes of men, 
 And centre admiration on myself! 
 To have this power over every one 
 
92 GIORGIONE, [Act H. 
 
 Unquestionably safe, I would expend 
 
 My utmost energies — would barter all 
 
 My lesser comforts. It would fill my pride, 
 
 To see my rivals shrink away disgraced 
 
 And beaten in the contest. Men would come 
 
 To worship at my feet — would solicit. 
 
 And deem their labor light to win a smile. 
 
 The thing is worth contesting ; let it be to-night ! 
 
 I promise, you shall conquer in the strife. 
 Your rich and rare adornments will surpass — 
 
 vioiANTA {excitedly). ' 
 
 My rivals' here in Venice ! My toilet ! 
 Come, come to my toilet! 'Tis near the time 
 Our guests assemble. Come! to my toilet! 
 
 \Exe/mt. 
 
SCEKE IV.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE- 93 
 
 Scene IV. — Ante-room in Lorini^s Palace. 
 Babtolo, Violahta, TiTiiN, and others. 
 
 BARTOLO (to DSHEB). 
 
 "Well? 
 
 USHEB. 
 
 The rich Count, Sebastian Zuccato! 
 Enter Zuccato. 
 
 BAKTOLO. 
 
 Well, Zuccato?. 
 
 ZUCCATO. 
 
 Truly so. Senator. 
 I think I shall enjoy your splendid feast ; 
 I came to do so, noble Senator. 
 
 USHEK. 
 
 Gian Bellini ! and his daughter ! 
 
 Enter Belliki and Cobielu. 
 
 Master, my dearest, oldest, best of friends ! 
 And you, dear lady, accept Lorini's welcome! 
 
94 GIORGIONE, [Act II. 
 
 USHER. 
 
 Giorgio Barberelli, and his friends ! 
 
 Enter GioEeio, Aeetino, <md Mokto. 
 
 ■VTOLANTA {aside). 
 
 Indeed! Report liath barely told enough 
 
 From oiF her ball of praise. I never saw 
 
 A man so dignified ! so elegant ! 
 
 And see, with what an easy grace he moves ! 
 
 He would be peerless in a multitude 
 
 Of proud "V^enetians ; and that's in his form 
 
 "Which cannot be forgotten when once seen. 
 
 I marvel that a man so dignified 
 
 Should be nor nobly born, nor rich, nor proud ! 
 
 He is attested: Rumor does not lie. 
 
 Welcome, sirs ! Lorini gives you welcome ! 
 The freedom of his house consider yours. 
 
 My heart must thank you, for my tongue would 
 
 fail 
 To give it full expression. 
 
 Never fear; 
 Tou are secure while in Lorini's house 
 
Scene IV.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. 95 
 
 Of his consideration and esteem ; 
 Your merit is sufficient for his love. 
 
 GIOKGIO. 
 
 Merit is a thing which I may fairly doubt 
 As my belonging. It argues something 
 Entitling the owner to respect. 
 
 Thou art welcome here ! That should insure thee, 
 That I esteem thee as a chosen friend. 
 
 [Presenting Vlolanta. 
 This is my daughter Violanta, 
 My only daughter, and my only care. 
 My son was stolen from his mother's arms ; 
 I know not if he lives. This gentleman, 
 My child, is worthy of your confidence. 
 I pray you, entertain him. 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 Signor Giorgione, 
 I shall esteem my labor well repaid 
 If I can please you. 
 
 I shall be grateful. 
 If I by words could show my gratitude, 
 I would give liberty to my poor tongue. 
 To rattle them around you till the air 
 Could hold no more of sound. 
 
96 GIORGIONE, [Act II. 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 Your modesty- 
 Will not permit a merit in yourself; 
 Yet ere you gave your presence in our house, 
 Fame had announced you as a gentleman. 
 
 But I am poor ! I own not even that 
 
 Which would protect me from the march of Want 
 
 A short month hence. My life is in my Art. 
 
 Is genius ever poor ? 
 
 As the time goes, 
 Genius often wanders after bread, 
 , And supperless must often go to bed ; 
 And yet, I think, 'tis rich — that is, in love. 
 In that domain there is a mansion fair. 
 One that is well adorned with such grand things 
 As itself loves — Excellence, Beauty, Strength. 
 It lives in splendor, — even like a prince 
 That elevates his subject from the dust 
 By showing them the Great, the Wise, the Good. 
 It is Promethean in its benefits. 
 It has a wealth, not gold, but better things, 
 As ; — mind, imagination, beauty, power. 
 It has an avarice — a lofty one ! — 
 
SOBNE IV.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 97 
 
 That it may have its name upon the scroll 
 "Which Fame forever trumpets to the world. 
 Aye, that is my ambition. 
 
 ZnCCATO. 
 
 Ha! ha! ha! 
 You should be bound, for you are mad, methinks ! 
 What is your genius, if your meal-chest stands 
 Chock-fiill of emptiness ? 'Tis better far 
 To have the comforts of a solid home, 
 With substance tangible, and title sure 
 For present purposes, than live upon 
 The fickle hope of an enduring name. 
 A painter ! future glory ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 (To ViOLANTA.) 
 
 Allow me, lady, to be your escort. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! A painter ! Glory ! Ha ! ha ! 
 
 [Exit Zuocato laughmg^ leading Lady Vlolanta. The rest 
 of the company folhmng^ except Giorgio and Corielli, 
 Giorgio, as if deeply sensible of the taunt of Zuccato, 
 and of his own position, meditates. Corielli approaches 
 him. 
 
 COBIELLI. 
 
 Dear Giorgio ! 
 
 GIOEGIO. 
 
 Ah, Corielli! sweet lady! 
 
 CORIBLLI. 
 
 Heed not that man! his title sits not well 
 
 7 
 
98 GIORGIONE, [Act II. 
 
 Upon his empty head. He puts to blush 
 
 The memory of great and noble men, 
 
 From whom he came a most conceited oaf. 
 
 His soul is not above the yellow dust 
 
 That glitters on his coat and weights his purse, — 
 
 Is as cognizant of the benefits. 
 
 Which man's invention, from the rumbling mass 
 
 Of thick-confused chaos, moulded into ■ shape 
 
 By self-reliance, diligence, and love. 
 
 He lives to-day for what to-day provides ; 
 
 To-morrow is unknown, the next a blank. 
 
 There's nothing great or good in him to live 
 
 Beyond his day, in name, or place, or thing. 
 
 A butterfly ! ephemeron ! mist ! air ! 
 
 Yea, very nothing constitutes his life ! 
 
 So let him pass, a harmless, buzzing thing 
 
 That fills the number, but ne'er benefits 
 
 The enterprise and happiness of men. 
 
 Dear Giorgio, I hope that you to-night, 
 
 In this assemblage of Venetia's great. 
 
 May gather what will be to you anon 
 
 Of great advantage in your noble Art, 
 
 Besides the pleasure of the festival. 
 
 Thinking of me ! O wherefore think of me ? 
 
 I have no claim upon your sympathy. 
 
 Nor may I venture to a friendly thought 
 
 In your sweet soul ; — then wherefore think of me ? 
 
Scene IV.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 99 
 
 Tou are the best and dearest of my Mends ! 
 
 I do esteem you as a gentleman — 
 
 Proud of your friendship : — proud, if you will think 
 
 That I am worthy to advise with you, 
 
 And prouder still to have you call me "friend!" 
 
 Tou are my friend ! and I would have you more, 
 
 If I could place an equal in your love ! 
 
 I may not hope — yet Hope would linger here. 
 
 And I would love you better than my life. 
 
 O if I had the wealth to share with you, 
 
 That I can fancy in ten thousand ships 
 
 Coming home to me, weighted to their waists 
 
 And plethoric with gems from far and wide! 
 
 O let my life be marked for Sorrow's cloud, 
 
 And be the curse of Cain upon my brow, — 
 
 Let every honest man abandon me — 
 
 Let thieves and vagabonds consider me 
 
 Below their calling, and let every door 
 
 Deny me passage — let kicks and buffets 
 
 Be plentifully mine where'er I come — 
 
 Let flying stones smite my defenseless head, 
 
 And drive me out to dwell in rocky wilds 
 
 A curse, a pestilence, — if I presume 
 
 To seek your friendship or receive your love. 
 
 Unless the value of my heart is fair 
 
 And well approved. Yea, thus Giorgione pleads, — 
 
100 GIORGIONE, [AOT n 
 
 Let this curse stick and rust his life away, 
 If he is profligate of your sweet heart ! 
 I have a name to win ; and as I march 
 Along the doubtful way, be you my star, 
 And I will march, endure, and bravely dare, 
 Till I accomplish it, all for your love. 
 
 speak again ! 'tis wonder new to me ! 
 
 Speak ! speak ! speak ! that I may drink thy 
 
 words 
 As flowers drink the pearly breath of morn. 
 Which rarefies their perfume, beauty, love, 
 That amorous Zephyrs may upon their way 
 Be freighted with their sweets. 
 Let this enchantment never leave my soul! 
 speak again ! I long to hear thy voice ! 
 
 This is my picture : — it may be a dream ; 
 
 My soul delights to think it may be real ! — 
 
 I see you, in the future, all my own. 
 
 And all my days are brightened by your smiles. 
 
 The only angel that my soul can see, 
 
 That seems to brighten, vivify, and cheer 
 
 This life of mine — whose smile is joy to me — 
 
 My master's daughter, pray you, pardon me! 
 
 I am presuming and am trespassing 
 
 Upon your goodness ! 
 
ScEKE rV.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. 101. 
 
 COKIELLI. 
 
 Speak, O speak again! 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Come, lady ! the music is inviting 
 
 The graceful motion of your dainty feet. 
 
 0, honor me, dear lady, with your hand. 
 
 Why look so steadfastly into my face ? 
 
 What read you there? Tour bosom heaves and 
 
 falls, 
 As if some great commotion was within ! 
 The music, too, which gladly fills the air, 
 Knocks at your ear for entrance to your soul. 
 But, lo ! the sense of harmony is gone ; 
 A sentinel more potent keeps the place. 
 O come, my sweet one ! Come, Corielli, come ! 
 
 COKLELLI. 
 
 I am bewildered in this dream of joy ! 
 I am so happy ! I am so happy ! 
 The earth is beautiful, it smiles on me ; 
 The air embraces me and whispers joy ; 
 And I am in the mazes of Delight. 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Tears ! my sweet one ! O drive them from your 
 cheeks ! 
 
 CORIELLI. 
 
 Art thou Giorgio? Then I am not dreaming! 
 
102 GIORGIONE, [Act II. 
 
 GIOKGIO. 
 
 I wait for you, my sweet one. Come, come, come. 
 
 I am not dreaming? I am not dreaming! 
 
 [Exeimt. 
 
Scene V.] TffE PAINTER OF VENICE. 103 
 
 Scene V. — 7%e Assembly HaU in the Palace 
 Lorini. 
 
 Music. — GiOEGio and Cokiblli, Violanta and 
 ZtrccATO, Babtolo Loeini, Gian Bellini, 
 Titian, Aebtino, Morto da Feltei, and a 
 large company of ladies and gentlemen. Some 
 are promenading, others are in groups conver- 
 sing. GiOEGio is polite to CoEiELLi, and he 
 leads her to a seat, talcing a place heside her. 
 Violanta leaves Zuccato and appears to be 
 watching the movements of Giorgio. Moeto, 
 observing Violanta's behavior, directs Gioegio's 
 attention towards her. 
 
 MOETO (to GIOEGIO). 
 
 See yonder lady, the daughter of our host ; 
 Give some care to her, and in courteous phrase 
 Admit her kindness. It will please her well, 
 And heighten our acceptance. 
 
 GIOEGIO. 
 
 I thank thee. 
 
 {To COEIELLI.) 
 
 Excuse me, lady ! 
 
104 GIORGIONE, LACT II. 
 
 COKIELM. 
 
 O but come again ! 
 
 I shall not be contented if you stay. 
 
 [Giorgio salutes Covielli^ and tken joins Viotanta in the 
 promenade. Morio approaches CorieUi. 
 
 MORTO (to COEIELLI). 
 
 Shall I escort you in the promenade ? 
 
 I shall be pleased to keep your company. 
 
 [Mario and CorieUi join the promenaders. Giorgio . and 
 ViolaTUa come to the fi'ont. 
 
 I am most grateful that you do approve. 
 
 My poor productions may stand some question 
 
 Before the people. Some will flatter me, 
 
 And laud my pictures as unparalleled; 
 
 "While others will protest our doom should be 
 
 A corner in Oblivion. 
 
 There may be in a thousand one who sees 
 
 The artist's aim — the merit in his work, 
 
 Who will be bold enough to publish it, 
 
 And fearlessly defend him to the last. 
 
 It is bald ignorance and tawdry pride 
 
 The artist mostly fears. He scorns outright, 
 
 Or pities that deformity which moves 
 
 To misshape and divert humanity 
 
 From God's intention — obedience and love. 
 
Scene V.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 105 
 
 While I bend lowly to my Maker's will, 
 I do not hesitate to climb the rounds 
 To honorable mention in my Art, 
 And time will best discover what I am. 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 Time is a prucible, a purifier; 
 K gold is in the mass which passes in 
 It wiU appear, nor less in value grow ; 
 The baser portion will be cast aside. 
 But you, in Venice, are accounted gold. 
 Venice announces that Bellini's name 
 Can have no better one to foUow his 
 Than that you carry. 
 
 The great Bellini! 
 I fear I am unworthy of his love ! 
 The great Bellini, as the noonday sun. 
 Gives out his brilliance ; in comparison, 
 I have but the glow-worm's uncertain light. 
 I pray that he may live so long and well. 
 So long and well, that men will lift their caps 
 As he moves on his way. And when no more 
 His grand old form is seen above the soil, 
 His name will be remembered in the list 
 Of those who graced the earth : — a monument 
 As lasting as the granite by the sea. 
 
106 GIORGIONE, [Act II. 
 
 VIOLAHTA. 
 
 Wherefore, I pray, are you so warm in praise 
 Of this Bellini ? 
 
 Because I love him ! 
 STea, even as a god my heart adores 
 And turns to him ! Deserve I censure ? No ! 
 The river of my soul's love flows to him. 
 
 It seems to me, your heart 's so full of him, 
 There is no vacancy, no standing place 
 For other occupation. Love may knock 
 At your cold heart for entrance — may remain 
 Until his golden locks grow thin and gray — 
 May die in second childhood uninsured 
 That his loud summons had been heard within 
 That stony heart of yours. 
 
 Because a man does love his mother well, 
 Is he to hate his wife ? His heart expands 
 To every fresh addition. There's no end 
 To his enjoyment if he truly loves. 
 Love is observing, and its influence 
 Encourages and helps the trusting heart 
 To persevere in that which will attain 
 Perfection to itself. I am not bound 
 
Scene V.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 107 
 
 By any person, principle, or thing. 
 
 To single my attachments or desires ; 
 
 But my profession teaches me to love 
 
 The things which God hath made ; for there I see 
 
 A grand example, and would follow it. 
 
 I love my master, for he is a man 
 
 Most eminent, godlike, and qualified. 
 
 He is deserving of my soul's regard. 
 
 He is endowed with every principle 
 
 That elevates a man and makes him fair. 
 
 My brothers, too, stand well within my love. 
 
 But I regard another more than all, — 
 
 I mean I love another, one so pure 
 
 That Heaven itself seems to light up her soul. 
 
 viOLANTA (adde). 
 
 This man is truly noble, and in love ! 
 
 I will observe him closely ; he may stand 
 
 Before my equals as a gentleman. 
 
 Had he a title, an olden name. 
 
 E'en though no ducat was within his purse — 
 
 Ah, no ! my pride ! my pride, how it would fall ! 
 
 \_Corielli hreahs away from MorlOj and comes to the front, 
 
 /bllowed by Mm. 
 
 COEIELLI. 
 
 No more, I charge thee, let me hear thy voice 
 On such a theme. I am thy friend, no more. 
 
 MOETO. 
 
 Lady, I crave your pardon ! 
 
108 GIORGIONE, [Act n. 
 
 I give it, 
 For what has gone before ; but, henceforth, 
 Let silence guide thee — mental and vocal, 
 Unless I should deny thee to my friends. 
 
 Forgive me, lady; and I, in all my ways, 
 Will not offend — will serve you with my life. 
 
 It will serve thee, to never hope again. 
 Unless denial should be sent to thee, 
 With scotn, contempt, and loathing, to dismiss 
 Thy presence, insolence, and' impudence. 
 I may accept thy friendship, not thy love. 
 
 [Giorgio^ obsermnff CoridlVs excitement, leaves Violanta ab- 
 ruptly and Joins Corielli. This action wounds the pride of 
 Violanta, and shows that Giorgid's preference is toward 
 Corielii. 
 
 GIORGIO {to COEIELLI). 
 
 Tired, my sweet one? 
 
 COKLELLI. 
 
 Not when thou art here. 
 
 GIOKGIO. 
 
 I wait to serve you, Sweet-heart 
 
Scene V.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 109 
 
 Sit by me, 
 And tell again the story of thy life. 
 'Tis passing strange ! and I delight in it ; 
 And every repetition whets my love, 
 For I find something new in every line 
 That pleases me, I had not seen before. 
 
 \_Gwrgio sits by CorielH, and, appears to be telling some 
 story. The company gather about him and appear to be 
 interested. Violanta is excited and angry. Morto is de^ 
 
 TiOLANTA {adde). 
 
 I hate yon painter's daughter ! fiercely hate ! 
 I would that I could crush her; for she comes 
 Between myself and power. Would that she were 
 Deformed, repulsive, black as Ethiope, 
 That every one would spurn her ! Ah, I see ! 
 She loves yon Giorgio ! Well, well ! what then ! 
 Let her love, it will avail her nothing. 
 
 'y, but heard by violanta). 
 
 I love her madly, yet I cannot hope 
 To gain upon her heart. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 VIOLANTA, 
 
 Of whom spoke you ? 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 Of Bellini's daughter, 
 The fair Corielli! 
 
110 GIORGIONE, [Act U. 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 Would you possess her ? 
 
 She hath refused to entertam my suit. 
 
 VIOLAHTA. 
 
 If I could tell you how to win her heart, 
 Would you adventure for't? 
 
 Sketch but the toil, 
 I will complete it. Never fear for me ! 
 
 Soon I will send for you, when I will make 
 The matter clear. But can I trust you, sir? 
 
 Prepare an oath: fear not that I will cringe. 
 Make it so binding, that the parting off 
 Will bar my soul from heaven, I will swear 
 And seal the bond with blood, if I may win. 
 
 VIOLAHTA. . 
 
 See that my summons when it comes to you 
 Have quickly your attention. 
 
Scene V.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. Ill 
 
 MOETO. 
 
 I will attend you. 
 
 [Exit Violanta and Morto. 
 
 GioKQio {rising from the. seat and coming forward, as if at 
 the end of his story.) 
 
 Then we were safe. 
 
 COBIBLLI. 
 
 Thank Heaven! 
 
 GIOBGIO. 
 
 That we were safe? 
 
 OOKIELM. 
 
 Aye, but of thy foster-brother tells us ! 
 
 pardon me ! I had forgotten him. 
 It is a fault and selfish, that I should 
 Myself, and of myself, maintain your ear, 
 When others are entitled to your care. 
 
 O tell the story as you told it once, 
 When evening softly crept upon the scene 
 The sun was leaving. Tou remember it? 
 Tou said, " Apollo, as he made the west. 
 Painted with gold and crimson, edged the clouds 
 With glowing lights." You must remember it ! 
 It was when we sat on the balcony 
 One summer eve, — you now remember it ? 
 
112 GIOUGIONE, [Act II. 
 
 BAETOLO. 
 
 Aye, tell the story, and our thanks will flow. 
 
 'Twas a cold winter night. The sky o'ercast 
 With dark and dismal gloom, and wind and rain. 
 The shrieks and howls which flew before the blast 
 Made space seem full of hell's inhabitants. 
 So fierce it was, the mountain seemed to quake 
 And shrink in terror ; 'twas an awful night ! 
 My father from the heights was hurrying 
 Towards the shelter of Ms cottage in dismay, 
 When suddenly he halted — an infant's wail 
 Came on the wild wind to a father's soul ! 
 How strange that sound ! and on the hills at 
 
 night ! 
 Strange indeed ! but being himself a father. 
 Having a tender heart — again the cry ! 
 And this time most appealingly to him ! 
 Perhaps it was his own, Ms only child! 
 Upon the thought, and guided by the sound, 
 He sought the cause with trembling : an infant 
 Exposed to the rude peltings of the storm. 
 Greeted his gaze. Quickly, yet tenderly, 
 He caught the babe, and, folding it with care 
 To his warm heart, he quickly reached his home. 
 Beneath the shelter of his manly care, 
 The foundling Aretino thus became 
 My brother and a man. When he was found 
 
Scene V.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 113 
 
 A clasp was on his arm ; no other mark 
 Whereby he might be known was ever found. 
 
 BAETOLO. 
 
 A clasp ? with motto ? 
 
 GI0K6IO. 
 
 The same, exactly; 
 ji. phoenix rising was the legend on't. 
 
 ABETIHO. 
 
 See, here it is! my only property. 
 
 BELLINI (to BAETOLO). 
 
 Here is a wonder, sir ! 
 
 BAKTOI.O. 
 
 He is my hoy! 
 
 My father? 
 
 BAETOLO. 
 
 -I 
 
 Thy father! 
 
 And worthy of my love ! 
 
 \_They embrace. 
 
 BAETOLO. 
 
 My boy, my boy ! how I have looked for thee, 
 8 
 
114 G I ORG I ONE. [Act II. 
 
 Year after year. I sought for thee, and feared 
 With that intense emotion of the heart 
 Which but a father feels so piercingly 
 When looking for his lost — Ms only child. 
 I hoped, and again, though disappointed oft, 
 That I should find thee — hold thee to my heart 
 Before Death silenced it. I am content: 
 The hope of years is gratified to-night ! 
 
 And I have longed to see ray father's face, 
 That I might love him. I would fancy him 
 As one most noble, a great-hearted man. 
 I find him to be all that I could wish 
 Or fancy paint, — E'en like a goodly tree 
 Well barked about and healthy, sending forth 
 Its branches and its leaves to shelter those 
 Who swelter 'neath Oppression's burning sun, 
 Or suffer from the poignant tooth of Want: 
 A great-heart and a noble — honest man. 
 
 Omnipotence ! I trusted not in vain ! 
 
 My prayer has been heard ; its answer, here ! 
 
 Let me be always grateful for Thy love. 
 
 \Pictwre — The Recovery. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
ACT m. 
 
 SCENE. — VENICE. 
 
 " When I am gone 
 The world will like a valuator sit 
 Upon my soul, and say ' I was a clond 
 That caught its glory irom a sunken sun, 
 And gradual burnt into its native gray.' " 
 
 Alexahdeb Smith. 
 
ACT m. 
 
 SCENE.— VENICE. 
 
 — • — 
 
 Scene. I. — A Ohamler in Lorini's Palace. 
 
 VioiiAHTA and Moeto da Fbltbi. 
 VIOLAKTA. 
 
 Thy judgment must not sleep if thou would have 
 
 The blossom of thy hope well fertilized, 
 
 That fruit may come of it. Corielli is 
 
 The prize before thee, and thy only aim. 
 
 Let Caution be thy guide, and Shrewdness lead, 
 
 Thine enterprise will surely bring to thee 
 
 A tide of glory. Fear not failure, then ; 
 
 But, mark me well, there's danger in delay. 
 
 I understand it — must advance my cause. 
 My love is glowing; it has grown so great 
 That every other enterprise must come 
 And bow to it. I am upon the sea. 
 
118 GIORGIONE, [Act III. 
 
 The sea of Love, a cast-off mariner. 
 
 I battle with the billows, meet their rage, 
 
 And catch at straws in my despairing hope 
 
 To compass my desire. I seem to fail, 
 
 I seem to sink, — down, down to endless night ! 
 
 VIOLAHTA. 
 
 Thy passion would not let another have 
 What thine own heart affects? 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 No, on my life ! 
 
 VIOLAHTA. 
 
 What would thou undertake to win her love ? 
 
 All that an honorable man might dare. 
 
 Publish the fame which young Leander won 
 
 For Hero's love, and I will sink his feat, 
 
 By my superior daring, to an act 
 
 Of small importance and accomplishment. 
 
 I will attempt to scale th' Olympian crown, 
 
 She on the summit, and the prize to me. 
 
 And dare the gods thereon to stay my course. 
 
 Old Sicily's Vesuvius shall not daunt 
 
 Nor terrify my soul, but I will mount 
 
 And face the wall of fire, and win or die. 
 
 The frowning Alps may rear their mighty heads 
 
 Capped in eternal snow, yet will I force 
 
SCESE I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 119 
 
 A passage to her side. No terror yet 
 Invented by the fiends shall make me quail, 
 Or blot my courage out. I will succeed 
 In every undertaking, if her love 
 Is my rewarji. 
 
 VIOLAHTA. 
 
 But what of Giorgio? — 
 That self-conceited man, whom Venice hath 
 Beplastered with " Giorgione ? " What of him ? 
 
 Hold, I pray you ! The earth holds not a man 
 
 More noble in his heart or generous, 
 
 No better friend, no brother more sincere. 
 
 No man deserving better of his kind. 
 
 He is " Giorgione.'' " Giorgione " is my friend. 
 
 I love him, lady, and your speech oifends ! 
 
 vioLAMTA {aside). 
 
 'Tis well, I understand thee — how to move 
 To check thy king ! 
 
 ( To MORTO.) 
 
 Thou overratest him, and much, methinks. 
 That which I have will modify thy praise. 
 If I unfold to thee a secret plot, 
 Wherein lies hid the vilest treachery, 
 Will thou be honest and expose the wrong, 
 
120 GIORGWNE, [Act III. 
 
 E'en though thy friend should be the guilty 
 
 wretch — 
 A wolf wrapped in the fleece — a baptized knave ? 
 
 Show me his guUt, I will not hesitate 
 To show the monster in his ugliness 
 For human detestation. 
 
 VIOLAHTA. 
 
 I'll trust thee. 
 Thus the story goes, — that Giorgio loves, 
 And that Gorielli entertains his hve. 
 
 Then I forever will compel my heart 
 To thrust out its desire. I love him so, 
 That all my life and having shall be his ! 
 
 He, like a date-stone, folds up to himself! 
 
 In order that he may advance himself. 
 
 He would destroy his friends — would barter all — 
 
 Would force the pride of manhood from his soul. 
 
 And see his honor dead : a villain, he ! 
 
 Again, your speech offends ! I must not hear 
 My friend traduced ! 
 
SCEHE I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 121 
 
 TIOLAHTA. 
 
 Thy judgment sits upon 
 A one-side evidence. What T advance 
 May alter its importance. Then hear to me : — 
 This Giorgio, by the right of friendship, 
 Held of my father and his new-found son, 
 Hath access to our palace at his vrill. 
 Emboldened by my brother's sudden rise, 
 And of his liberty, he manifests 
 A most obnoxious disposition here 
 To be our equal, and he presses me 
 To listen to his love. He praises me, 
 And vows that I alone live in his heart. 
 He, like a villain, covets what we have ; 
 And, like a thief, would have me steal away 
 With him from Venice. Marry, I protest, 
 I know him as a most accomplished knave ! 
 
 Gods ! do I hear ? Can this man so deceive ! 
 I'll seek him out; I will expose the cheat; 
 The counterfeiter shall no more impose 
 Upon my heart. I will not shelter fraud. 
 
 A man of such exquisite villainy 
 Must be encountered on his chosen ground. 
 Thy rash intemperance would be no match 
 For his diplomacy. Use good silence, 
 
122 GIOBGIONE, [Act HI. 
 
 Or put him on his guard, and so expose 
 Mine honor to his secret villainies. 
 
 What confidence have I in any man 
 
 If I am wrecked on Giorgio ? none, none ! 
 
 Heed my counsel. Go to thy lodging, go; 
 Exhibit no concern in all thy ways. 
 Nor let him see thou art observing him, 
 But watch him — mark his every action well 
 And store it in thy judgment ; it may come 
 A witness to establish what I say. 
 And when he comes again to press his suit, 
 I will advise thee of the time and place ; 
 Upon that instant come, and come with her 
 Who should have knowledge of his villainy. 
 Creep into yonder chamber silently, 
 From thence observe this seeming honest man 
 Unfold himself. But, mark you, have a care 
 Upon your tongue, or all may come to grief. 
 This key will give you entrance. Be you firm. 
 
 As granite rocks resist old Ocean's march, 
 So will I stand. 
 
SCEHB I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 123 
 
 VIOLAHTA. 
 
 Corielli is for thee! 
 Now hie thee home. Stay, here is gold for thee ! 
 
 [ Offering a purse. 
 MOKTO {refusing it). 
 
 I am not guilty of a single act 
 Since I have been called Morto, that I should 
 Blush when the name is sounded in mine ear, 
 Or hide my face behind a double veil. 
 But if I took your gold for doing right, 
 I should deserve the scorn of every man. 
 And conscience would upbraid me. No, lady, 
 I seek for light ! Can Giorgio be so base ! 
 
 [Esat. 
 
 VIOLAHTA. 
 
 He is a fool that runs into a trap 
 
 And binds himself! No matter how I work, 
 
 I will accomplish what I have begun ! 
 
 [Esat. 
 
124 GIORGIONM, [AoT III. 
 
 Scene II. — A Street in Venice. 
 
 Enter TrriAU, meeting Zdccato and others. 
 
 znccATO. 
 What news, Ti2dano? 
 
 TrrLAN. 
 
 The great Bellini — 
 
 ZUCCATO. 
 
 " TTie great Bellini ! " the great fiddlestick ! 
 
 TITIAN. 
 
 Is dying. 
 
 ZUCCATO. 
 
 Well, he's but a painter, sir! 
 
 shame upon thy disrespectful tongue! 
 
 The merit of ten thousand lives combined. 
 
 Were each one like thine own, would fail to meet 
 
 Bellini's value. Nay, his poorest part 
 
 Would far exceed the value of the mass. 
 
 Speak of him as he is — the brightest gem 
 
Scene II.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. \ 125 
 
 That glitters in the Adriatic crown 
 Venetia wears. Bellini, sir, is great ! 
 
 Venice gives liberty to every man 
 To honor his opinion. This is mine : 
 He is a painter, and a painter hath 
 But little in the state. What loseth it 
 When this Bellini dies? A painter, sir! 
 
 Enjoy thy "liberty!" It is a thing 
 Light as a feather in the moving air, 
 And of as little value to mankind. 
 When put to such irreverence as thine. 
 Bellini's loss will be severely felt — 
 WiU cause a sorrow in the hearts of all 
 Who know his goodly, noble qualities. 
 We know, a man possessing such a mind 
 Comes not in every age. Fortune is not 
 Too lavish with her favors or her smiles. 
 All honor to Bellini's memory! 
 G-iorgione's named as his successor here. 
 And fame reports him as the proper man 
 To fill the vacancy. 
 
 ZnCOATO. 
 
 Except myself 
 All speak him fair; while I, for oddity. 
 Give him his right position — a painter ! 
 
126 f GIOSGIONE, [Act HI. 
 
 TITIAN. 
 
 Tom are an oddity ! 
 
 ZCCCATO. 
 
 I am, indeed! 
 
 TITIAN. 
 
 Indeed, you are a very oddity ! 
 
 Enter a Messenqee. 
 What of Bellini, sir ? 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 I am express 
 Sent from his house to call the good Lorini. 
 Bellini soon will pass away from us ! 
 We lose a master, sir, whose every act 
 Was done in kindness ! 
 
 I shall lose a friend; 
 Venice a jewel ; Art a follower ; — 
 Mankind a brother with a manly heart. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
Scene in.l THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 127 
 
 Scene m. — A Room in BeUvn£s House. 
 
 Bellini on a, couch. Coeielli, Giorgio, Ake- 
 TiNO, and others about Mm. 
 
 Mt child, my only one, grieve not for me ! 
 A creditor is standing at my side, 
 Demanding what is due. My life he claims. 
 And will have payment — will not compromise. 
 As in the course of nature all things die, 
 Why should I mourn to follow in the steps 
 Of my ancestors ? Better men, I wot. 
 And more esteemed, with grander souls 
 Than mine was ever, have preceded me — 
 Have leaped into the darkness, sounded it. 
 And now repose from care, from toil, and pain. 
 Then think of me ! — of me, though I depart ; 
 But think that I am raised above the walks 
 Of dull mortality, unto an end 
 Wherein lies hid the secret of our Grod. 
 Be happy, be happy ! I am well ! 
 
 Father ! 
 
128 GIORGIONE, [Act in. 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 My much loved master! 
 
 BELLINI. 
 
 Hear me out. 
 I have with pride the fond affection seen, 
 Which lives within your hearts; it pleases me. 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 I love Corielli ; for she is yourself 
 
 In all that appertains to excellence. 
 
 I love her — I adore her gentle soul, — 
 
 Bemenibering your kindness unto me. 
 
 I love her, and I fervently believe 
 
 That she inclines to me. I prize her love 
 
 More than the treasures of a thousand worlds. 
 
 The treasure of her heart is more to me 
 
 Than my poor nature. My ambition 's poor 
 
 If her fair star is not before my soul. 
 
 Her hand, at my request, she will retain 
 
 Till I am worthy of it — till I can mate 
 
 Her own sweet nature with a godlike love. 
 
 And Heaven will approve me, and exalt. 
 
 BELLINI. 
 
 I am content to leave her in thy care. 
 
 Enter Bartolo Loeini. 
 
 BAETOLO. 
 
 I am in sorrow, seeing thee, old friend, 
 In this extreme of life. 
 
Scene IH.] TBE PAINTER OF VENICE. 129 
 
 I am happy ; 
 Yea, I am happy ! Wherefore else, I pray ? 
 Have I not loving hearts about my bed? 
 Have I more sins to carry to my grave 
 Than would outweigh my love ? 
 
 I also ask. 
 Wherein Bellini was not truly great? 
 No choking weed could flourish in the soil 
 Of his kind nature ; no temptation spoil. 
 
 Old Time is numbering the falling sands 
 That yet belong to me ; I must submit. 
 Well ! 'Tis the end of an eventful life ! 
 
 A life of honor ! 
 
 OIOB6IO. 
 
 Great in deeds of love ! 
 
 My night approaches ; darkness grows apace. 
 The woodman Death hews at my tree of life ; 
 The little strength that stays to anchor it, 
 He soon will cut apart; it then will fall — 
 9 
 
130 GIORGIONE, [Act IH. 
 
 Will be to other storms insensible, 
 And silence be with me for evermore. 
 
 Thyself, Bellini, art a proper man 
 
 To show the way to me that I must go. 
 
 A few more storms, and this old trunk will blast, 
 
 And fall beneath the shafts of hungry Death. 
 
 Would that we fell together on the field. 
 
 That thy most noble soul might convoy mine 
 
 To light beyond the tomb! Bellini, wait! 
 
 O wait for me! I shall not tarry long! 
 
 O stay, Bartolo ! for thou art my friend ; 
 And I would have thee hearken to my will. 
 And answer its conditions to my love. 
 My little store I give unto my child 
 And her affianced husband Giorgio ; 
 My soul I give to God from whom it came. 
 
 If I betray your confidence in aught, 
 Let me be cursed forever before men. 
 And want that grace to save me from the foe 
 Of God and man ! 
 
 I know thy heart is well. 
 
SCESE m.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 131 
 
 COKIELLI. 
 
 My father ! O I cannot speak my love ! 
 
 My time approaches ; send my confessor. 
 I bid you all farewell. 
 
 COKEELLI. 
 
 my father ! 
 
 GIOKGIO. 
 
 Master, friend, and fathek — all, farewell ! 
 
 Farewell, my children ! Heaven bless you all ! 
 
 [CorieUi and Giorgio Meel BeBini blesses them, after 
 which a priest approaches and administers the sacrament 
 to BeUini. 
 
 [^Pictwe — The Death of BeUini. 
 
 BND OF ACT m. 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE. — VENICE. 
 
 " A passion has grown up to be a king, 
 Buling my being with as fierce a sway 
 As the mad sun the prostrate desert sands ! " 
 
 Alexahdee Smith. 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE. — VENICE. 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in BeUiwHs House. 
 GiOKGio and Cokielli. 
 
 CoEiELLi, my sweet one, prithee chide me not, 
 
 Nor doubt that I shall ever fail in love, 
 
 Or change to thee; 
 
 For while the lamp is burning in my soul 
 
 Its flame is much enhanced by thy sweet heart. 
 
 doubt it not! for in that doubt there dwells 
 
 A crouching demon, who would fiercely bind 
 
 Your better nature, and destroy your peace. 
 
 I am happy, yea, happy in thy love! 
 The sun would shine — but to my soul no light; 
 The earth's great beauty would dissolve away; 
 My life, now sweet, would be a pilgrimage, 
 No hope presuming, no joy consuming. 
 
136 GIORGIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 With darkness in the windows of my soul; 
 Great Heaven itself would quickly disappear ; — 
 If thou did not enliven all to me. 
 My earth and heaven, sun and moon, and life, 
 All centre in thyself, thy life, thy love ! 
 
 Another moon will see our love complete. 
 When we together on life's great highway 
 Will march in harmony. And we will press 
 Into the service of our perfect love. 
 All that will most enhance our happiness. 
 Our home — our home shall be a paradise ! 
 Our only care, how to increase our joy. 
 Which, being enlarged, shall yet enlarge again 
 With new addition and development. 
 
 We'll have no thought, but what is common stock ; 
 No new delight, but what we both enjoy ; 
 No cloudy passage, but we both may feel 
 The blow upon our hearts; the sun will shine 
 To light us on to love ; and when we reach 
 The evening of our day, and pass away — 
 
 eiOEGIO. 
 
 We'll love — 
 
 COEIELLI. 
 
 Forever ! 
 
SOBME I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 137 
 
 GIOEGIO. 
 
 yes, forever ! 
 But go, my sweet one, seek companionship 
 Among your studies ; for I must away 
 On business of importance. 
 
 Why leave me? 
 Do you not love me? Does my trifling heart 
 Deprive you of your pleasure or your peace ? 
 Is it too selfish, when it would retain 
 Its life beside it? keep the summer here? 
 I know that I am selfish in my love; 
 But thou, my Giorgio, will forgive my sin, 
 And set it down to fondness, not to fraud. 
 
 My brother and his sister Violanta 
 Hold my fair promise to join them at this hour. 
 They are Lorini since Bartolo's death; 
 And they are worthy of that good man's name ! 
 Bellini dead, Bartolo was alone. 
 Alone ! Ah, bitter sundering of the bonds. 
 The links that made the chain of their old love,. 
 Whose strength was tried, and always found se- 
 cure, 
 Substantial, firm, and clear. — The bolt of Death, 
 To feed the hungry grave, destroyed the house 
 Where sunlight warmly shone. — The mystic cord 
 
138 GIORGIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 That held Bellini and Bartolo's hearts, 
 
 Was rent apart when great Bellini died, 
 
 But was united when Bartolo went 
 
 To join his good old friend. 
 
 O great, and good, and noble men ! 
 
 they were chosen — stood among mankind 
 
 As beacon lights ! 
 
 As diamonds set in the grosser clay 
 
 Themselves show brighter, so these men appeared 
 
 And shone above the masses that went by. 
 
 Let me endeavor to approach their light. 
 
 tarry not to long. 'Tis lonely here 
 When you are absent, and I think 
 That pity would restore you to my side. 
 
 1 pray you speed your business, and return ! 
 But yet, love, lose not a moment's joy 
 To give your presence to my girlish heart. 
 
 I am a miser, and you are my gold; 
 
 And if I venture, I want interest, 
 
 And some fair promise that it will return. 
 
 I here advance a portion of the price ! 
 
 \_Kisses her. 
 The balance of the " twenty " I will pay 
 At my return, if that you should demand. 
 Love will reprove me if I tarry long — 
 
1' 
 ScENB I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 139 
 
 Will lend me wings that I may fly to thee 
 And thy dear company. All's well, my sweet! 
 
 lExit. 
 
 OORIELLI (SOh). 
 
 One month ! it seems an age to wait a month 
 For what I would have here. But then, old 
 
 Time 
 Will not release his prisoner to me, 
 However I appeal to his cold heart; 
 So I must wait, must wait impatiently 
 The tedious time. 
 
 Fashion, thou art a tyrant — wayward thing ! 
 Why didst thou limit, why adjust the time 
 That we must mourn for those that sleep in death ; 
 And, by appareling, observe a gloom 
 Not found beneath the sable covering ? 
 Those whom we loved when living in the flesh, 
 Should not be cast off as some tattered coat 
 And be forgotten ; but they should appear 
 In Memory's fair garden as the bloom 
 Thaf s perfect and eternal ! 
 What more of love, inward or out, 
 Could I display to my good father's love. 
 Than to fulfill the wishes of his life ? 
 Then how sin I unto my father's love. 
 If I should wish this month good speed away ? 
 This month that keeps me vmting for the joy — 
 The joyful time when I shall be the bride 
 Of him I love ? I wish this month away ! 
 
140 GIORGIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 Enter Mobto da Feltbi. 
 
 MOBIO. 
 
 Greeting, feir lady! 
 
 CORIELM. 
 
 Welcome, good Signor! 
 
 MORTO. 
 
 May I presume to speak? 
 
 COBIELIJ, 
 
 Of what? 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 Giorgio. 
 
 COBBELI/I. 
 
 If thou would praise him, invent some new way ; 
 Lest being below the summit of his worth, 
 Thy praise would not exalt him to my soul,*— 
 Would not observe that which in him is good 
 Beyond comparison '-with other men. 
 
 I cannot praise wherein I am deceived; 
 Nor censure either, till I am convinced 
 That praise or censure is well merited. 
 
 That's in thy words I cannot comprehend; 
 
SCEHB I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 141 
 
 But, knowing well his merit, I must praise: 
 Indeed, I hold him as a perfect man ! 
 
 I am not certain that I have the truth 
 
 In what I came to tell, being but informed 
 
 By those who vouch for it. May I speak freely? 
 
 If aught wherein I am myself concerned 
 Burdens thy mind, keep it no longer there. 
 But, mark, if aught of him, save iu his praise, 
 Is living in thy mind, let it remain. 
 For nothing that is ill will I receive 
 Of my dear Giorgio. 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 It is important that you understand 
 The stoiy as I have it. 
 
 I listen. 
 
 MOKTO. 
 
 You love Giorgione? 
 
 COBIBU.I. 
 
 I love Gior^one. 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 If I may venture to release the tale 
 
142 GIORGIONE, [Act IV 
 
 Intrusted to my care and meant for you, 
 I'd say, the seed of love which you had sown 
 In Giorgio's soil was either choked with weeds 
 Or blasted at the core ; or that some bird — 
 A lady, if you please — had carried it away 
 And left her own, a vigorous thing to bloom. 
 Giorgione loves, but not Bellini's child! 
 
 Liar ! villain ! Barest utter such blasphemy ? 
 The open evidence of thy evil heart ? 
 The foul wish of the foulest villainy? 
 Tremble, sir! lest the earth beneath thy feet 
 Distend its monster jaws 
 To swallow thee and thy colossal lie ! 
 Or, is't so monstrous, that its bigness is 
 Thine own security ? Begone, I say ! 
 There's liar in thy face so plainly drawn 
 It sickens me to read it. Go ! go ! go ! 
 
 Lady, hear me ! I should sincerely grieve. 
 
 If in the issue he should prove as base 
 
 As I report him. I have esteemed him. 
 
 And for his benefit I would have sold 
 
 This life of mine ; 
 
 I crushed all hope of love within my heart, 
 
 When it stood in the way 
 
 Of his advancement; and I questioned not 
 
Scene I.] TBE PAINTER OF VENICE. 143 
 
 His honesty or love. And if I come 
 With speech unwelcome, it is not mine own. 
 If he is false, I will forthwith proclaim 
 Mankind villainous ; there shall not linger 
 A sympathy within me for my race. 
 
 COEIELLI. 
 
 The torch hath been applied, — the fuel burns, — 
 My blood is all on fire ! Some calamity 
 Floats like a cloud between the sun and me. 
 I want the matter fully understood, 
 And I want it not. I must not seek it; 
 Yet not possessing evidence to clear, 
 Shall I not live in doubt ? — in constant fear, 
 That Truth will come in thunder tones to me, 
 To clear the atmosphere or blast my peace? 
 
 I would most gladly disbelieve the tale. 
 But with report I could have evidence, 
 Had I required it. 
 
 COEIELLI. 
 
 Go on ! go on ! 
 The torture of the rack would pain me less 
 Than thy raw sympathy! The matter, sir, 
 Be it the direst ill, must be revealed! 
 If thou, for thine own ends, but torture me, ■ 
 look to it ! thy villainy shall have 
 A most exquisite punishment. Go on ! 
 
144 GIORGIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 MOETO. 
 
 'Tis Giorgio's wish, that you 'should think him fair 
 
 And even to your love. He fully knows 
 
 That you are waiting for the joyful day, 
 
 Whose evening shadows should find you his wife. 
 
 He is a foul deceiver ! false as Hell ! 
 
 His heart is black — 
 
 COBIBLLI. 
 
 Fiend ! thou liest ! But, go on ! 
 
 I say, his heart is black, and to the core 
 
 A mass of rottenness ! He seeks elsewhere 
 
 Than in Bellini's house a lady's hand. 
 
 The Lady Violanta hath a title. 
 
 And in her right there stands a fair amount 
 
 Of golden expectation, which he seeks 
 
 To centre in himself by wedding her. 
 
 Now, this I heard, I say. I have the means. 
 
 And can discover of its truth to-day. 
 
 False ! false ! O no. Heaven hath made him well , 
 
 It is a trick of thine to try my love — 
 
 To test my faith in his nobility. 
 
 I will not doubt him, cannot doubt his love, 
 
 Nor entertain a fear of his just cause. 
 
ScEHE I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 145 
 
 MOKTO. 
 
 I told no more than what was told to me. 
 
 CORIELLI. 
 
 I wiU not give it credence, lest it grow, 
 And from the semblance get solidity. 
 Indeed, I know thy tale's impossible ! 
 Not having for its base a single fact, 
 It cannot stand before the glowing light 
 Of Giorgio's sun, — of his grand honesty. 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 I have the power to develop it. 
 
 COBIEIJil. 
 
 The means ! explain ! 'tis better to be sure ! 
 
 The Lady Violanta will receive him ; 
 Will in her chamber hear her lover plead 
 Th' advantage of his cause within this hour. 
 Go with me to the place. We may command 
 Admittance by this key. Thus we may know 
 If I have been imposed upon or no. 
 May he be honest ! / a guilty wretch ! 
 
 Shall I believe, even if evident? 
 Or make my vision liar to my soul, 
 10 
 
146 GIORGIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 K I should see the thing I would not see ? 
 Shall I seek ferther? and by seeking find 
 More doubtful premises, till sober Truth 
 Will have no more delay in her just rights? 
 Lead on, I'll follow thee! 
 
 This way, lady! 
 I hope with you, this tale may prove untrue ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 COKIELM. 
 
 My buoyant hope and ghostly fear advance 
 To meet my trusting love, my dawning hate ; 
 And my poor tongue will covet curses deep 
 To mingle with my prayers. Fortune ! 
 If thou hast sent thy poisoned shaft abroad 
 To strike some loving heart, let me be found 
 To be the only weeper. Keep despair 
 A stranger to my heart I Giorgio ! 
 
 lExit. 
 
Scene n.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 147 
 
 •lA 
 
 Scene II. — A Chamber in Lorini's Palace. A 
 Corridor beyond the centre Door. 
 
 Enter Violahta. 
 
 Hate I, in admiration, lost my pride, 
 
 And covet only him — this Giorgio ? 
 
 "Was it his genius, was it Gossip Fame, 
 
 Or was it my desire to conquer him 
 
 Whom Fame so lavishly enlarged upon, 
 
 That raised him from the rank of common men 
 
 To balance my position ? Or was it that 
 
 I deemed the conquest easy, that I find 
 
 I am defeated? I will not remain 
 
 And see my rival triumph over me ! 
 
 Let it be love, or hate, or wounded pride, 
 
 I will insert my sting into the hearts 
 
 Of all my enemies. Yea, they shall feel 
 
 That Violanta can strike deep and sure ! 
 
 Their fell destruction must needs be a balm 
 
 To my most bitter hate. If I should sink 
 
 Into the abyss of my own design. 
 
 And Hell front my advance, I will not halt, — 
 
 We'll sink together to the dungeon gloom 
 
 Where Ruin will engulf us. 
 
148 GIORGIONE, [Act IV- 
 
 Enter Giorgio. 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 You are punctual, sir! 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 'Tis joy to execute your kind commands. 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 How speeds the work, that is to be the gem 
 In our collection? 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 'Tis done, and is not ; 
 It lacks that finishing — that master-touch, 
 Which I cannot supply. 
 
 Why, that is strange! 
 'Tis done, and is not! Expound the riddle. 
 
 'Tis done, as well as I can execute ; 
 As far as I can make it, 'tis complete. 
 It pleases me, and does not ; and I doubt 
 If I could better it. It is not done — 
 That is, not yet complete as I desire ; 
 "Vis but a semblance — color, canvas, paint. 
 It plainly shows how poor we are to make, 
 
Scene II.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE- 149 
 
 Or even imitate the perfect work 
 
 Of grand old Nature. There, I am at fault ; 
 
 Being but a man, I lack the gifted skill. 
 
 To finish up my work successfully. 
 
 [Morto and Carielli enter the corridw caaiiously. They 
 secrete themselves^ and watch the movements of Giorgio 
 and ViolmUa. 
 
 Tell me, I pray you, how you set the piece. 
 And I will thank you. 'Tis a favorite, 
 A subject that I love; and when you tell 
 The story in your way, 'tis doubly dear. 
 I would you tell it, — nay, I beg of you ! 
 
 IGittrgio describes the composition of a picture. CorieUi 
 and M&rto are much agitated iy the action before them. 
 
 Suppose the lady was yourself, and, here. 
 
 The lover pleads upon his bended knee, 
 
 While every line and feature's publishing 
 
 The depth of his devotion and his hope. 
 
 His very life depends upon the words 
 
 About to issue from the lady's lips. 
 
 And you may know her answer by her eyes, 
 
 Which show their wealth of love. The vermeil 
 
 blush 
 Upon the lovely cheek establishes 
 The old, old story. It was told to me. 
 
150 GIOEGIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 By one whose locks were silvered by his years, 
 
 The hero of the tale. His purse was light ; 
 
 No title, land, or friend held him in place ; 
 
 No rich connections bolstered up his hopes. 
 
 Yet he was grand in manhood, rich in love. 
 
 And all bound to the lady of his choice. 
 
 She was accomplished, lovely, sweet, and fair. 
 
 And rich she was ; — the daughter of a Count 
 
 And heiress to the wide domains about 
 
 The castle of her fathers. Aye rich, rich, — 
 
 But she was richer in herself than all. 
 
 She was the jewel ; all that was about 
 
 Grew lustreless beside her, and abased. 
 
 The rich materials on her outward form, 
 
 The jewels, ornaments, and golden sheen. 
 
 Were less in light than Nature's lavishments. 
 
 Seen through the windows of her gentle soul. 
 
 The casket and the gem, the form and soul. 
 
 Were incomparable, unless we look 
 
 To Heaven for the test. To end the tale, 
 
 I'd say, the lady died; the lover lives, 
 
 Though years have bent him, and his locks are 
 
 gray. 
 How like you my description? my design? 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 I'll pay thee for thy story — with a hiss! 
 
 [Emes him, 
 
SOBKE n.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 151 
 
 COKEELLI (aside). 
 
 O perjured wretch ! dissembler ! fiend ! 
 O misery ! misery ! misery ! 
 
 [Eidt. 
 MOETO (aside). 
 
 Is he the man I loved? He, the shepherd? 
 No, he is a villain ! bold impostor ! 
 One covering the wolf with fleecy wool. 
 He must be punished for his double sin, 
 The sin to friendship and the sin to love ! 
 
 [Emt. 
 
 The picture soon shall be set in its place, 
 Ton then will see my faulty management. 
 And pray you, criticize it right severe. 
 That I may know what marks emblemish me, 
 And I may mend when I proceed again. 
 Your servant, lady ! I will take my leave ! 
 
 ViOLANTA rings the teU. 
 Enter Sekvaht. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Go tell my brother I would speak with him. 
 
 [Exit Servant 
 Enter Abkeiho. 
 
 TIOLANTA. 
 
 Brother, are you the friend of Giorgio? 
 
152 GIORGIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 AEETINO. 
 
 I am his hrother, that is more than friend ! 
 
 'Twas kindness, friendship, old-time confidence. 
 
 That made me Ms, 'tv^as Nature made me yours. 
 
 His manly form, his honor, dignity, 
 
 Besides his gentle nature, perfect love, 
 
 Ennoble him ; 
 
 And every one concedes him to be great. 
 
 The name that we acknowledge, wealth we own, 
 
 Came not by any special excellence 
 
 Which we possessed. 
 
 And they may perish with us and the hour ; 
 
 But Ms in coming ages will not die. 
 
 And I rejoice, that I can say to you, 
 
 I am his brother. 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 Then you would save him? 
 Would guard him from the villainy that stalks 
 About his passing? 
 
 AEETISO. 
 
 Truly, with my life! 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 List, then, to me! and give him counsel now, 
 Ere he shall fall into the pit prepared^ 
 And be the victim of conspiracy 
 Most foul and desperate. 
 
 AEETIHO. 
 
 I cannot see 
 
Scene II.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 153 
 
 How any man can harbor e'en a thought 
 Of ill against him ! 
 
 VIOLASTA. 
 
 Loves he Corielli? 
 
 AEETIHO. 
 
 She is the very sunshine of his life ! 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 Then is the plot constructed doubly fOul ; 
 For, as I hear, he loves Da Feltri too 
 E'en better than a friend. 
 
 Tour words are strange! 
 I cannot solve the riddle you propose! 
 
 Learn this of me, and have thy friend to know 
 
 The foul conspiracy thaf s hatching out. 
 
 Morto da Feltri led Corielli forth 
 
 To listen to his keen duplicity, 
 
 And in a moment of forgetfiilness 
 
 She rendered her consent to his designs 
 
 To imthrone Giorgio ; 
 
 And if she ever loved this Giorgio, 
 
 'Tis now turned into hate. She would be free, - 
 
 She racks her brain to furnish arguments, 
 
154 GIOROIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 To satisfy her conscience and the world, 
 That Giorgio is inconstant to his trust, 
 And not her equal: — 'tis a knavish plot: 
 Go quickly to him, let him know the worst; 
 But bid him quench the fever of his rage 
 Till judgment comes, that he may safely move 
 To the true issue of this foul business. 
 Have him observe them ; but let Caution guide. 
 Lest Indiscretion advertise his watch 
 And they offset it. Do thou him advise. 
 For thy cool judgment will be needed here. 
 
 'Tis villainy so great, I cannot find 
 The limits of its largeness, nor the word 
 That will express its vileness ! Is it so ? 
 
 VIOLAHTA. 
 
 How profit I to misinform thee? 
 
 True! 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 I might have told the story to himself. 
 Which I have told to thee; but that I knew 
 Thou, being his friend, would better lead 
 
 him on * 
 
 To safely stem the torrent of his woe. 
 
Scene U.] TBE PAINTER OF VENICE. 155 
 
 AKETINO. 
 
 I am amazed! 
 
 TIOLANTA {adde). 
 Thus far my work goes well. 
 
 ( To Aketino.) 
 See to it ! see to it ! Good Aretino ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 AEETISO. 
 
 The serpent warmed, its savior would destroy ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
156 GIORGIONE, [Aci IV. 
 
 Scene III. — A Street in Venice. 
 Enter Giorgio. 
 
 My humor serves me pleasantly to-night, 
 
 And sweet anticipation smiling seems 
 
 To welcome me to love. And Venice, too, 
 
 "With her assemblage of delightful things. 
 
 Waits but my summons to advance her share 
 
 Of what is needed to complete my joy. 
 
 And I adore thee, Venice ! beautiful ! 
 
 For in thy garden my Corielli grew, 
 
 And blooms the fairest, freshest, sweetest flower 
 
 Thy borders ever knew. I love thee well. 
 
 Dear Venice! but, Corielli I adore! 
 
 Eiiter Aebtiho. 
 
 AEETIHO. 
 
 I was in search of thee. 
 
 Then here well met! 
 And I am glad thou cam'st at such a time. 
 For I am merry and content and free. 
 
Scene m.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 157 
 
 I have been thinking of the time to come, — 
 
 such delightful days and balmy nights! 
 The sunrise of our love — the mid-day glow — 
 The evening twilight sinking into night, — 
 Yet every change was heralded with joy ; 
 
 For Love was there disposing happiness, 
 And all things did contribute to our peace. 
 'Twas paradise, indeed, within itself. 
 That Age had crept upon me unobserved, 
 And taken from my head his yearly due. 
 And I was old in years but young in love. 
 Why, thou art gloomy ! What is the matter ? 
 
 1 see no cause for melancholy here! 
 
 Thou art dreaming ! — It may be well to dream ; 
 For dreams, though empty of reality. 
 Oft balm the heart ; and this uncertainty — 
 This phantom of thy brain may prove to be 
 An empty dream — a vision in the air. 
 
 Not real! not sure! I pray thee, understand! 
 The smallest portion of Corielli's love 
 By far transcends the picture I have drawn 
 As Nature's work the artifice of man ! 
 
 ARETINO. 
 
 Corielli is a woman! and as such 
 
158 GIORGIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 Is tainted with the sin of mother Eve. 
 She is, like Eve, as ready to conform 
 The easy conquest of a serpent tongue. 
 Corielli is a woman, I repeat! 
 Then, as a woman trust her, hut no more. 
 
 OIOKOIO. 
 
 What art thou driving at? 
 
 If it must be, 
 That thy affection will not turn away, 
 Set not thy heart so strongly to her side, 
 That disappointment, meeting thy advance, 
 May not destroy thy reason and content. 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 My heart and life are hers ! 
 
 AREHCINO. 
 
 I I pity thee! 
 
 And wherefore "pity" me? 
 
 art thou sure 
 Corielli can be trusted? Is she not fickle? 
 Doubtful ? wayward ? Is she not changeable ? 
 
Scene III.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 159 
 
 Would she not sip on this sweet flower's lip, 
 
 Then taste another, and another one 
 
 Not half so sweet as this ? art thou sure ? 
 
 As much doubt have I of Corielli's love, 
 As I have of mine own. And I may add, 
 That I am sure Corielli's heart is true. 
 As that I know the sun will shine again 
 To-morrow noon. 
 
 ARETINO. 
 
 Nay, then, there is doubt! for to-morrow's sun 
 May not come through the leaden atmosphere ; 
 The clouds that navigate the upper air. 
 May interpose their might to his advance 
 And hide his face from us. 
 
 GIOKGIO. 
 
 Her soul I know so well, I cannot doubt! 
 
 ABETmO. 
 
 Well? 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Well! why, 'tis well! 
 
 AKETIHO. 
 
 GIOKGIO. 
 
 And Morto? 
 
 Morto ! 
 
160 GIORGIONE, [Aoi IV. 
 
 AKETINO. 
 
 Eegard'st thou him ? And well ? 
 
 He is my friend ! 
 But what's the drift of thy disjointed words ? 
 
 AEETINO. 
 
 This have I heard, that Morto plays thee false. 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Nay, thou art jesting at thy friend's expense ! 
 
 AEETINO. 
 
 Time will tell what stuff we men are made of; 
 And women will be judged. 
 
 "What is thy meaning? 
 
 That thou art shamefully imposed upon. 
 Nor Morto, nor Corielli, stand to thee 
 Eeflected in their light. They are not worth 
 More than should be the foulest thing alive ; - 
 They are not fit to live in thy great heart. 
 Therefore to them exhibit thy contempt ; 
 Expel them from the palace of thy love. 
 
SCElii; in.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 161 
 
 O monster lie ! O monster, monster lie ! 
 O thou art damned for that detested thought! 
 It does unmask thy soul — thy selfish soul; 
 It shows a mass of villainy and sin 
 Keeking like hell's vile composite. 
 If thou stood multiplied ten thousand times, 
 I'd cram thy foul words into every throat 
 And choke it with them. O monster lie ! 
 
 \He seizes Aretino. 
 ARETINO. 
 
 Nay, prithee, brother ! conquer thy passion ! 
 Anger but mars the very • best of men ; 
 The majesty of Jove it most impairs. 
 How may I profit? how gain advantage. 
 By seeking what is not to shake thy faith 
 In those thou lovest? 
 
 If I should doubt her. 
 Mine own existence would take wing away ; 
 The purity of angels would descend 
 To foul corruption and disgusting sin, 
 And Nature stoop to stinking harlotry. 
 I must not credit thee, nor doubt her love. 
 go from me and never more return ! 
 As Aretino past, I love thee dearly; 
 As Aretino hence — we are strangers, sir. 
 U 
 
162 GIORGIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 Hear out the story; and remember this, 
 The matter is not mine — I gather it 
 From those who can establish it to thee. 
 Though not for me, yet will I stand the test 
 Of what may follow. Shall I speak freely ? 
 
 GIOEGIO. 
 
 Thy sin is monstrous, and it cannot grow ! 
 
 Heed my counsel, and as it may fall out. 
 
 Act clearly, wisely, — as becomes a man. 
 
 Morto has by some exceeding guile. 
 
 Or seeming friendship, won Corielli's ear. 
 
 And slowly led her to believe thee false. 
 
 Thus far successful; next, he looked for more. 
 
 And by some well-considered flattery 
 
 He gained her confidence. And, now, for profit, 
 
 He does conspire with her to find some way 
 
 To silence thy complaints — thy interest 
 
 In her and her estate. 
 
 I never doubted her; 
 Why need I now hang on the skirt of Doubt, 
 When I can fly to her? can tell her all? 
 Corielli ! No, I cannot think that she 
 Is capable of fraud. — It cannot be ! 
 
 Ifioms 
 
Scene m.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 163 
 
 AKETINO. 
 
 Nay, hold thy speed! If thou would learn the 
 
 truth, 
 Eestrain thy passion ; thy intemperance 
 Will not consider what will profit thee. 
 Watch, but not watching seem lest they surmise 
 The drift of thy observance and escape. 
 
 Why these are tears that course adown my cheeks ! 
 Away ! you counsel ill. What ! again ? yes ! 
 Away ! away ! Corielli is not false ! 
 
 [Exeimt. 
 
164 G I ORG I ONE, [Act IT. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Room in Bellini's House. 
 
 Bnte,r Coeielli. 
 
 Am I deformed? or less than what I was, 
 That I am set aside? that I must lose 
 The very thing I value — Giorgio's love ? 
 I am deformed; for this destroying flame 
 Which licks and laps the substance of my heart 
 Cannot be quenched ! its fury is intense ! 
 My whirling brain cannot control itself, 
 Nor shape a course to meet its present need ; 
 A multitude of plans war with themselves. 
 And I am helpless while the contest moves. 
 wretched me ! cruel, cruel fate ! 
 
 EnUr GiOKQio. 
 
 Corielli ! my sweet one ! I come to thee ! 
 "What! in tears? 
 
 Be still, my heart! 
 
 \EndeavoTing to control her emoHon. 
 
 'Tis nothing! 
 
Scene IV.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 165 
 
 But this is strange! my sweet, thy cheeks are 
 pale ! 
 
 COEIELLI. 
 
 I am nor ill, nor well; and yet I — O! 
 
 [Bursting into tears. 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Nor ill ? nor well ? It is a riddle then, 
 
 This present grief. My sweet, prithee, explain ! 
 
 No ! I am desperate ! I cannot tell ! 
 
 [Giorgio approaching her. 
 
 ■Nay, nay, touch me not! I am desperate! 
 
 [RuTis off the stage. 
 
 [Endeavoring to calm the emotion of his heart, and hoHng 
 
 after her. 
 This bad beginning like I not at all ! 
 It bodes calamity, misery, and death 
 To all my hopes ; it elevates my fear ; 
 It rises like a ghost to fright my soul 
 And blast my life. Corielli ! Corielli ! 
 Am I thy judge ? O let me hesitate ! 
 Am I or Heaven to decide thy doom? 
 If I, then let the facts appear unveiled. 
 Lest I, pronouncing judgment, injure thee 
 And murder mine own peace. Let me hesitate. — 
 
166 GIORGIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 Let me, at least, provide myself with peace, 
 With justice, mercy, love — those attributes 
 Which should adorn a judge — enjewel him 
 As stars enjewel the heavens in the night. 
 Let me accept what reason may receive. 
 And look for better days. I must not think 
 That I am in the twisted web of Fate 
 Surrounded by black Doubt ; or woven in 
 With gloom before and sunshine far behind. 
 
 Enter Aeetino and Moeto. 
 GIORGIO {assuming a clieerfulTmod). 
 
 Welcome, Morto ! thy hand — and thine, brother ! 
 Goes all things well with you ? 
 
 AEETINO. 
 
 Truly, with me ! 
 There is not anything that I could 'have, 
 Wherein to have I could be better pleased. 
 I may have fears ; but, then, I hope all's well ! 
 
 GIOEGIO {to MOETO). 
 
 Thy hand hath not the grip it had of late, — 
 It trembles, Morto ! Why look'st thou yonder ? 
 Art thou dumb ? dumb ? or wouldst thou be alone ? 
 Wouldst have our oldtime friendship put away 
 As some old garment, battered, faded, torn ? 
 If thou art Morto, the Morto that I know, 
 Thou art my friend — my brother ; — am I right ? 
 
Scene IV.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 167 
 
 MOETO. 
 
 Tou have my thanks. 
 
 And what are they, Morto, 
 Compared to love ? a brotherhood of hearts ? 
 I am not qualified to understand 
 What service I have done to win thy thanks, 
 Or thou to render them. 
 
 MOETO. 
 
 Yet I thank you. 
 
 QIOEGIO. 
 
 What mystery is here? 
 
 AEETINO. 
 
 Unfold thyself! 
 
 I thank you for the past; what is to come, 
 Let it come ; it will expose our failings. 
 
 Thy words like ice-drops mingle in my blood! 
 We know not what events will hence transpire; 
 The Present is our purpose. Make the best 
 Of what we have, and who will censure us ? 
 
168 GTORGIONE, [Act IT. 
 
 What is to come, let it come ; if good — well ; 
 If otherwise, why need we fret or growl ? 
 For present and to come our hand holds good 
 In all extremes. 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 Forever ! 
 
 Aye, forever! 
 
 [A pome. 
 
 dlOHGIO. 
 
 Why art thou silent, Morto da Feltri? 
 Why turn so coldly from me when I speak 
 Of our old love ? I pause — for your answer. 
 
 I am not in the mood to answer now; 
 Some other time I will, and fordhly. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 AKETINO 
 
 Is that like a brother ? 
 
 My fears take root ! 
 Griers clammy fingers coil about my heart, 
 And hug my throat. A many-headed beast 
 Assails my life, it tortures and destroys. 
 
Scene IV.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. 169 
 
 Like sinewed Laocoon an.d his sons of old 
 Contending with the slimy, crawling thing 
 Which surely wound about them, I appear 
 And strive for liberty. But my fond hope, 
 That I may conquer and emerge aright, 
 Is fading from my soul, — a passing dream. 
 The whirling waters hem me round about; 
 The centre will devour, and I must sink 
 Forever from the light of living day. 
 me ! me ! let this cloud pass away ! 
 
170 GIOBGIONE, [AOT IV 
 
 Scene V. — Bellini's Studio. A Recess on one 
 side of the Stage ; on the other an Open Window, 
 through which Venice can be seen. Moonlight. 
 
 MoBTO and Coeiblli are discovered. GriORGlO 
 and Aretino in the recess watching them. 
 
 MISERY ! misery ! misery ! 
 What have I done that I detest myself? 
 That I am set aside ? I'll tear my love 
 Up by the very roots, though it should snap 
 My thread of life and canker o'er my soul ! 
 My blood is boiling in my swollen veins ; 
 My poor heart yearns and beats for liberty ; 
 My maddened brain would hurl defiance forth, 
 And conquer or destroy. A demon stands — 
 His claw-like finger pointing to a grave 
 Where Silence is ; and I perceive Despair 
 Plotting with ghastly Murder and Revenge. 
 let me but complete mine enterprise. 
 Ere madness sinks me in the deep abyss 
 Of self-forgetfulness ! let me end 
 My woes and life together ! 
 
SOBNE v.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 171 
 
 MOBTO. 
 
 Quit Venice, 
 Forever quit the scene of misery, 
 And seek forgetfulness beyond the sea. 
 Some new endearment will bring comfort home, 
 A balm to your distemper's deep distress. 
 
 Forget ! I never can forget my pain ! 
 I would forget myself and all the world 
 When my revenge is done. let me strike — 
 Strike terror to the heart of her who stole 
 The life of my delight ! my soul's best love ! 
 
 Long have I loved you, long and truly loved. 
 
 And likewise loved my friend. I gave Mm all 
 
 That was in my possession — e'en yourself 
 
 I said that he was noble, was a better man 
 
 Than I could be, or ever hope to be; 
 
 Tour gentle soul would be a better mate 
 
 To his than mine. Compared to him, I was 
 
 A mole-hill to a mountain ; and our worth 
 
 Alike stood far apart. 
 
 His genial disposition, as I thought. 
 
 To my cold qualities stood as remote 
 
 As Arctic's icy regions from the South, 
 
 Where constant summer reigns. 
 
 Time hath developed his sharp avarice, 
 
172 GIORGIONE, [Act IV. 
 
 Hath shown his heart to be a mass of sin, 
 Where manhood should have been. Think of it, — 
 If you remain in Venice when he marries her — 
 The Lady Violanta — you will become 
 The centre for the foulest thing of all — 
 The gossip's slander. She will point at you, 
 Will call you "cast-off!" and such other names 
 As that detested crone finds in the sink — 
 That filthy, foul, and rotten heart of hers. 
 You must leave Venice ! — ^leave it forever ! 
 
 Venice ! aye, leave Venice, and forever ! 
 Leave Venice ! — and to-night ! — and forever ! 
 I care not whither, if I from Venice 
 And my accursed lot am led away. 
 
 [Morto leads off Corielli. 
 
 GioKGio aiid Aketino come /(yrward. 
 
 My work is done ! — done ! Nothing now remains ! 
 Here ends my toil, ambition, all my hopes ! 
 
 [Overcome hy his emotion lie sinks an his knees, 
 
 ABETINO. 
 
 Courage, my brother ! Be a man again ! 
 
 6IOEGIO (rising). 
 
 I am a man ! these tears proclaim the fact. 
 
Scene V.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 173 
 
 I must give up to grief, tears must ensue, 
 And sobs choke utterance. Corielli gone, — 
 What am I when alone ? A lone, lone man ! 
 
 My heart is bleeding, tears are in mine eyes. 
 Loud curses on the villain whom you saved ! 
 'Twere better he had perished on the hills, 
 Than set his poisoned teeth into your life ! 
 
 Darkness is before me ! nothing but the Past 
 Presents itself to my fond imagery. 
 My brain's invention cannot now proceed. 
 The gloom's impenetrable, — my race is done ! 
 Back to the hills! the hills! I will — to-night ! 
 
 To-night ? So soon ? 
 
 To-night ! why not to-night, 
 When here is desolation in my soul? 
 I have decided, and will go to-night! 
 
 I am thy brother now, as in the past; 
 My bond shall have observance to the last. 
 I will not leave thee till this cloud is past, 
 
174 OIORGIONE, [Act IT. 
 
 Save to provide for safety on our way 
 Toward the hills. 
 
 I will remember thee. 
 A brother, true of heart, cannot be found 
 At every crossing. Good Aretino, 
 Let me acknowledge and commend thy love. 
 
 [_They jo\n hands, and after the grip Aretino goes off. 
 Giorgio, absorbed in meditation, approaches the windm. 
 and holes out on Venice. The moon, shining vp&n his face 
 reveals the depth of his emotion. ( This scene should form 
 a pictwe.) 
 
 GIOKGIO (to VENICE). 
 
 Venice ! Venice ! my soul wells out to thee ! 
 Thou sitt'st upon the bosom of the deep 
 A stately thing, — a queen, a very queen ! 
 Thy prows the billows part on every sea. 
 To spread thy treasure, and to gather home 
 The growth of every clime ; 
 For Commerce here delights to keep her stores. 
 Art loves thee, too ; and keeps some state within, 
 Where she can with her lovers live at peace. 
 Thou art before my soul imbathed in love ; 
 So soft, indeed, and so like to repose. 
 That I might safely question of thyself 
 If in thy keeping could be found a heart 
 Inborn to grief. The pale moon looks at thee — 
 Looks on thy palaces and lofty domes. 
 Which seem in silvered majesty to rise 
 
SCBHE v.] TBE PAINTER OF VENICE. 175 
 
 To something more sublime and excellent 
 Than that which keeps this sodden atmosphere 
 "Tween Glory and Despair. 
 And thou art basking in the mellow light 
 Of Cynthia's eyes : her sweet enchantment reigns. 
 Ah ! no ! 'tis broken by the flickering light 
 Of yonder taper, which the watcher marks, 
 Not yet embosomed in the arms of Sleep; 
 And Night's deep noon, when silence should pre- 
 vail, 
 Hath here and there a crack upon the air 
 Of its repose, that frets thy soul with pain. 
 The gondolier, to ease his weary task, 
 Keeps time and melody, and speeds away. 
 The bravo creeps abroad on yonder point, 
 To rifle Silence and to murder Peace ; 
 While reckless Passion with Despair's afloat. 
 And Treach'ry's at the helm. And, like a rat, 
 Ingratitude is gnawing at thy life. 
 
 Venice, thou art blessed, as well as cursed ! 
 Mine own estate with thee and with the night. 
 May fairly stand and balance sympathy; 
 
 The mellow light of my humanity 
 
 Lies shattered by the hand of Treachery. 
 
 1 loved thee, Venice ! Tea, I loved thee well ! 
 When thou held out thine arms to take me in, 
 I had but love, ambition, honesty, 
 
 And that fair pride which Nature gave to me. 
 They were my all, and wealth they were to me : 
 
176 GIORGIONE. [Act IT. 
 
 I held to them, just as the miser held 
 
 To every coin which Death alone could free. 
 
 I sought no enterprise, no cunning used 
 
 To gain advantage of my origin ; 
 
 And not ashamed of that, I stood as free 
 
 As any man in Venice. What have I 
 
 Remaining to my credit, to remove 
 
 Beyond the bounds of Venice ? Let me think ! 
 
 I have that love, that honesty and pride, 
 
 As unsubdued as ever : but, my heart — 
 
 My heart is cut down like a blighted rose ; 
 
 Its glory lost, a wreck is all that stays. 
 
 My heart is sinking, sinking, sinking down, — 
 
 As lead the line which the mariner pays out, 
 
 Till, resting on the deep bed of the sea, 
 
 Beyond the eye of man, it finds repose. 
 
 And my ambition — Immortality ! — 
 
 That which all high-souled men are aiming for, 
 
 Is by my adverse fortune cast away 
 
 Upon an unknown and unfathomed sea. 
 
 And now, my only aim is in the tomb. 
 
 Where Silence and Oblivion undisturbed 
 
 May watch with me forever. 
 
 Venice ! Venice ! farewell, farewell, farewell ! 
 
 [Pictwre — The FareweVL to Fentce. 
 
 END OF ACT IT. 
 
ACT V. 
 
 SCENE. — VERONA. 
 
 " With God and silence ! 
 "When the great Universe subsides in God, 
 Even as a moment's foam subsides again 
 Upon the wave that bears it." 
 
 Alexander Smith. 
 
 n 
 
ACT V. 
 
 SCENE — TEEONA. 
 
 Scene I. — The Square in Verona (as in 
 Act L, Scene HI.) 
 
 £nter Cokiblli foUowed iy Mokto. 
 
 MORTO. 
 
 Whither would you, lady? 
 
 COBIELLI. 
 
 Into my grave, 
 For there my miserable life would end ! 
 
 MOKTO. 
 
 I pray you, take some rest ! 
 
 COEIEIil. 
 
 Rest ! rest ! — for me ? 
 There is nor rest, nor solitude, nor sleep. 
 Can shield me from the sun that heats my blood, — 
 From my poor stricken and forsaken heart. 
 The very air is full of mockery ! 
 
180 GIORGIONE, [Act T. 
 
 'Tis peopled by a multitude of forms 
 
 Revolting and obnoxious to my soul. 
 
 The earth divides, and shows a seething mass 
 
 Of rotten carcases, that move about 
 
 With flesh in masses dropping from their bones. 
 
 Some beckon me ; some laugh at my despair ; 
 
 And lightning flashes hurry through my brain 
 
 In excellent confusion. Let me go ! 
 
 I am not mad ! not mad ! 
 
 Whither would you? 
 To other lands ? 
 
 COKIELU. 
 
 Why to other lands ? No ! 
 There is no land can save me from myself; 
 No crag will hide the mountain of my woe. 
 Nor ocean drown my sorrow or my fears. 
 The fountain of my tears is out of tune ; 
 It cannot answer to my soul's appeal. 
 My heart is broiling in a cloud of fire — 
 Maddening ! maddening ! aye, maddening ! 
 
 MOETO. 
 
 Your grief will drive you mad ! 
 
 Mad ! mad ! aye, mad ! 
 And yet, does madness e'er forget itself? 
 
Scene I.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. 181 
 
 "Wanders it to reason; thence back again 
 
 To its own hell ? 
 
 Last night, methought, I was at home again, 
 
 The wife of him I loved ; and I was proud, 
 
 JRejoicing in mine husband as he held 
 
 My willing form within his strong embrace. 
 
 His loving words sank deep into my soul ; 
 
 His honeyed kisses lingered on my lips 
 
 Like nectar from the gods, — O balmy sweets ! 
 
 And what a loving wife was I to him ! 
 
 Dissolving every perfume in my way, 
 
 To make it sweeter and more rare for him ; 
 
 And every opposition that I saw 
 
 Confronting his advance, I put aside 
 
 By love's kind offices : when the path was clear 
 
 Then I rejoiced with him. 
 
 His bosom was my pillow in the night, 
 
 My refuge in the day. He was the sun. 
 
 That brought the daylight to my childish heart. 
 
 Our home was cheerful, charming, and at peace. 
 
 He went not from its threshold, or my side, 
 
 Without my kiss to keep his company ; 
 
 And my best prayers for his safe return 
 
 Were told as fast as tongue of love could tell. 
 
 And when the footfall of my love I heard, 
 
 If he escaped my watching and desire, 
 
 My heart would start to leap into his arms, 
 
 And by a welcome kiss receive him home. 
 
 And many thiiigs, which in themselves were small. 
 
182 , GIORGIONE, [Act V. 
 
 We each possessed the other; and though small 
 They counted in the total of our love. 
 That was my picture, was my paradise. 
 Ah ! but it faded, and at last dissolved ! 
 I saw him wedded to another wife, — 
 And he was kind to her — it made me mad ! 
 He bent to her — kissed her — aye, hissed her ! 
 My eagle-penetration went into 
 The dull indifference of her senses 
 To see if love was there. There was a mass 
 Of feathered vanity and swollen pride, 
 But neither substance, shadow, nor intent 
 Of what's akin to love. 
 
 And yet she smiled, and kissed — as Judas did. 
 When pocketing the price of that great Love 
 He was betraying. Then I could not weep, 
 A demon frenzy raged within my blood. 
 And Hatred's huge proportions brought about 
 The devil in mine heart; and Murder stood. 
 To blot forever from the living world 
 Myself and him and her. '' Mercy ! " I cried, 
 And, " Save me ! save me ! save me from my- 
 self!" 
 
 [Buns off, ftUcmed by Morto. 
 
 Enter Gioegio and Aketino. 
 
 AEETINO. 
 
 Brother, we need some rest ! Here, for the night 
 Make we our quarters. Our necessities 
 
SCENB I.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 183 
 
 Can be supplied in yonder hostelry. 
 
 This dajf's long journey, and to-morrow's march, 
 
 Advises a renewal of our strength 
 
 By food and shelter, and a peaceful night. 
 
 It cannot be that Peace will come again 
 And anchor me to hope ! to life ! to love ! 
 My weary soul my body's burden feels. 
 And longs to cast it off. The lamp of life, 
 With a flickering and uncertain light, 
 Trembles to expire : I would die quickly ! 
 
 Courage, my brother ! there's another love 
 Which thou art bound to feel — thy fellow-man. 
 He claims a debt of thee which must be paid. 
 Man was not made to live for self alone. 
 But for God's honor and the public good ; 
 And he that fails to satisfy these debts, 
 Deserves especial scorn ; for he murders 
 The design of his creation — and insults 
 The majesty of Heaven by default. 
 
 I cannot feel, I cannot think, or say 
 
 What gratitude I owe, or how to pay 
 
 My just indebtedness. I am afloat. 
 
 The sport of adverse winds ; and to my doom 
 
184 GI ORG I ONE, [Act V. 
 
 I sail unconsciously. I'm like the seed, 
 That which the mother-thistle sent abroad, 
 Its destiny unchosen and unknown. 
 My best endeavors soon will disappear, 
 And then forever ; — like a ship at sea 
 Striking a reef unknown upon the chart, 
 And going down with its cargo in the deep 
 To rest in darkness, its sad end unknown. 
 I'm like a weed that's growing with the wheat. 
 Which for the common good had better be 
 TJpriven from the soil. My crowning aim, 
 To rise above the crowd of common men 
 And gain a brighter color to my name. 
 Is now a passing dream, a fading thought. 
 I am cut down to wither, fade, and die. 
 
 It is unmanly, and of no avail, 
 
 This present grief. To be cast down 
 
 Shows we are human ; but to level fate 
 
 And conquer wisely our adversities 
 
 Establishes a power and exalts. 
 
 And would not shame the gods. 
 
 Look, my brother, and let me preach to you! 
 
 How grand Apollo manages his steeds 
 
 That mount the arch of heaven, — how his lust 
 
 Pursues the gentle, modest, flying Morn, 
 
 Who seeks to save her sweet virginity. 
 
 But, mark! the Clouds assemble in their might, 
 
Scene I.] TBE PAINTER OF VENICE. 185 
 
 Rebellion at their front, resolved on war 
 To keep his glory from the universe. 
 Success attends their onset for a while ; 
 Defeat soon follows, when they scamper off 
 And leave the conqueror to keep his course. 
 And set his glory in the glowing west. 
 Alike thy gloom is deep and desperate. 
 And master of thy manhood ; it but needs 
 Thy judgment to destroy it, to advance 
 More glorious from the conflict. 
 
 And for what 
 Would I have issue from my deep despair? 
 I have no hope, now that I am cast off — 
 No hope that I again may mix with men ; 
 JBut my desire now is to be left alone 
 In quiet all my days, that I may nurse 
 My fond remembrance — may forget my grief 
 In meditation and sublimity. 
 
 Hope, my brother, is man's best comforter! 
 Mortality is poor, but poorer yet 
 When hope is conquered by adversity. 
 Hope makes us brave the dangers of this life ; 
 It makes our enterprise advance; it keeps 
 Defeat far in the distance; and it comes 
 With balm for every accident and fear 
 
186 GIORGIONE, [Act V. 
 
 That mars the sunshine of our journeyings. 
 
 Hope makes our passage to another world 
 
 Devoid of terror ; it consoles the heart 
 
 That is relying on the promises 
 
 Of Heaven's King. 
 
 Then hope, my brother, hope that all is well! 
 
 Thy counsel touches me. I know thy love. 
 But, look! this is the place, the very spot. 
 Where we encountered those two noble men, 
 Bellini and Bartolo! 
 
 'Tis the place ; 
 But let us enter here, and seek repose. 
 
 GIORGIO. 
 
 My gratitude to them will never, never die ! 
 
 [^Exewni irnto the heitetry. 
 
 Enter Violanta and Attendamt. 
 
 VIOLASTA. 
 
 Thus far, with certainty, I follow them, 
 Giorgione and my brother. Though their speed 
 Hath been intemperate, 
 I must into their presence quickly come 
 Within the city. 
 
Scene I.] T3E PAINTER OF VENICE. 187 
 
 ( To Attehdaht.) 
 
 Seek information — 
 What you may deem sufficient for our need. 
 
 [ExU Attendant. 
 
 I do repent my folly — villainy. 
 Could I retrace my steps I would, and speedily ; 
 But by retraction I proclaim my sin 
 And shoulder public scorn. The mark of Cain 
 Would sit upon my brow — would thence pro- 
 claim 
 My deep and unpaired sin. I must advance, 
 And prosper in my crime, or turn aside 
 To fall into the abyss of my guilt 
 And sink forever. There 's no back way, no, 
 Nor resting-place ; I must advance and win. 
 
 \ExU into {he hostelry. 
 
188 GIORGIONE, [Act V. 
 
 Scene II. — A Sleeping Room in the Hostelry. Night. 
 GrOEGiO discovered asleep on a Bed. 
 
 Enter CokielI/I (with a dagger in her hand). 
 
 I HAVE the means to end this weary life, — 
 
 To blot out reason, and to purchase peace — 
 
 Forever. Forever! Why shudder I? 
 
 As if " forever " was a frozen hand 
 
 Dropped in the caldron of my heated blood ! 
 
 I stand in awe, and contemplate the deed 
 
 That I . would compass by this piece of steel ! 
 
 I'll take thee to my bosom as a friend ; 
 
 I'll honor thee, if thou wilt let my blood 
 
 And quiet all my fears, my doubts, my life. 
 
 Come, then, good steel, and do thy bloody work ! 
 
 [She raises the dagger to stab herself, when Giorgio, speak- 
 ing in his dream, arrests her attention. 
 
 GIORGIO (dreaming). 
 
 Corielli! Corielli! 
 
 COBIELLI. 
 
 Who calls Corielli? 
 
SCEKE II.] THE PAINTER OF VENICE. 189 
 
 I am Corielli; and my purpose halts 
 To answer thee. 
 
 GIOKGio {dreaming). 
 
 Corielli ! my sweet — sweet — 
 
 I know that voice ! It is of one once dear, 
 One that was fondly loved in better days. 
 
 GIORGIO {dreaming). 
 
 Corielli ! my Corielli ! 
 
 I am here. 
 Whate'er thou art, spirit of good or ill, 
 Man or demon, Corielli comes to thee. 
 
 [She approaches the bed and sees Giorgio. 
 
 Corielli! 
 
 COKIELU {wildly). 
 
 I have thee in my p*yer! 
 
 [LaugJis hysterically. 
 
 My great revenge can now be satisfied. 
 
 Aye, every drop of thy warm blood must flow 
 
 To satiate the thirst of my revenge ! 
 
 Thou murder'dst me, by killing all my love ; 
 
190 GIORGIONE, [Act V. 
 
 I murder thee, to kill thy foul desire. 
 I'll have thy company to a solid sleep, 
 Lasting forever. Come ! PU follow thee ! 
 
 [She leans over • him, and is about to strike, when Giorgio 
 again spedhs in his dream, and she hesitates. 
 
 OIOKOIO. 
 
 No, no, my sweetheart! My sweet Corielli! 
 
 The same old voice ! the well-remembered words ! 
 
 I am not dead, forgotten, or denied. 
 
 No, no, he dreams of me, he dreams of me. 
 
 Does he repent ? would he return to me ? 
 
 I cannot strike my dagger to thy heart. 
 
 For Heaven holds my hand, and shelters thee. 
 
 [She drq>s the dagger. 
 My wrath is turned away. O let me go, 
 And hide my head forever from the world ! 
 
 [^Exit. 
 GIORGIO {amaking). 
 
 Corielli ! stay thy hand ! stay, stay thy hand ! 
 
 [Rises suddenly and comes forward terrijied and ah/rmed. 
 Be looks about, omd gradually regains consciousness. 
 
 It was a dream ! Yes, yes, it was a dream ! 
 Yet it appeared so real, so tangible, 
 I could have touched her — felt the steel 
 Drinking my blood ! am I yet awake ? 
 
Scene II.] TBE PAINTER OF VENIC-B. 191 
 
 My pulse throbs wildly, and the sweat pours 
 
 down 
 In rivers from my brow. I must have air ! 
 
 [Discatiers the dagger. 
 What is this that glistens in the gloaming? 
 
 [Picks it vp. 
 A dagger ? dagger ! she held a dagger ! 
 Am I awake ? or is it all a dream ? 
 This dagger is substantial, and its point 
 
 \Pricks himself. 
 Touches my sensibility to pain, 
 While to its summons comes the crimson blood. 
 I am awake. This dagger needs some light 
 To set my mind at ease. I must have light ! 
 What, ho! light! light! 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Violabta. 
 
 He lodges here to-night, so I am told. 
 
 I will advise him of my presence here. 
 
 Though conscious of my sin, I must enforce 
 
 My presence at his side. I cannot fly 
 
 From my deep sin ; my conscience cannot sleep. 
 
 I am tormented, yet I must proceed. 
 
 Enter Cokielli. 
 
 COEIELIJ. 
 
 I cannot leave him till I have confessed 
 
192 GIORGIONE, [Act V. 
 
 My faulty judgment and my senseless wrath. 
 I'll show him how my heart is penitent, 
 How weary of itself, 'how much it needs 
 A separation and a silence sound 
 From all its misery. Giorgio ! Giorgio ! 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 Of whom speak you ? and what is your desire ? 
 
 I spoke of Giorgio. "Why dost thou intrude? 
 
 I had forgotten thee, and my despair, 
 
 In my advance to him. Thou art a thief. 
 
 Thou came into mine house and stole my love. 
 
 My peace and resignation's in the purse 
 
 Of thy rank rottenness. Why art thou here ? 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 A woman — 
 
 COEIELLI. 
 
 No, no, no, thou art a fiend ! 
 Thou didst purloin my love, my reason, happi- 
 ness ; 
 And now thy evU presence interferes 
 To hinder me from pleading, and to laugh 
 And fatten on the wreck of my poor heart. 
 Look upon me ! look on my misery ! 
 And then I must be paid for all my pain ! 
 
 [She seizes Violanta hy the throat 
 
SCBNE 11.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. 193 
 
 Bring back my love ! I will have no denial ! 
 I'll tear thee into fragments small as dust 
 And give them to the winds, if I shall find 
 He is not in thine heart. I have thee fast ! 
 
 [ Vwlania struggles to get free. 
 
 My grip — shall — never loose ! 
 
 VIOLANTA. 
 
 Mercy ! mercy \ 
 
 COKIELLI. 
 
 That mercy which I had I but return ! 
 
 I have thee fast, fast ! Bring back ftiy love ! 
 
 [She strangles Violanta. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha, ha ! fast, fast ! Bring back my love ! 
 
 [Wild and hysterical. 
 Enter Giorgio, Aeetiko, Host, and others with lights. 
 
 GIOHGIO. 
 
 Whom have we here ? Corielli ? Yes ! 
 
 ARETINO. 
 
 My sister too ! 
 And strangled by Corielli ! 
 
 COHIELLI. 
 
 Dead ! dead ! dead ! 
 
 [Lattghs wildly^ 
 
 GIOKGIO, 
 
 Let go thy hold, Corielli ! 
 
 [liaises her. 
 13 
 
194 GIOROIONE, [Act V. 
 
 She is mad, 
 And hears thee not. She is responsible 
 For this most sad misfortune. 
 
 GIORGIO {with COEIELLI 071 his arm). 
 
 Pity, sirs, 
 But neither censure nor complain of her. 
 She is the child of fortune. If God wills 
 That this calamity should rest on her — 
 Her judgment gone, her reason out of joint — 
 Be ye more thankful that ye can commit 
 Your fears and love to Him. Poor, poor Corielli ! 
 
 I am not mad ! no, no, I am not mad ! 
 I am not yet asleep ! Why call me back ? 
 Who keeps me from my purpose ? let me go ! 
 My blood's afire ! burning, burning, burning ! 
 A-nd I shall have release. Ha, ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Look up, my sweet one! Look up, Corielli! 
 All is well. 
 
 No, not well ! No, no, not well ! 
 I killed her, Giorgio ! I must follow her, 
 That at the Judgment she must not deny 
 
Scene II.] TEE PAINTER OF VENICE. 195 
 
 The theft of my poor heart ! O let me go ! 
 She tore thee from my heart; I — I killed her! 
 I was alone — ha, ha, ha ! — I am dying ! 
 This was my agent. 'Tis a deadly draught! 
 
 \_Shaiea vial. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Poison ! 
 
 COKIELLI. 
 
 Aye, poison! I killed thy mistress — 
 Would have killed thyself. forgive, forgive. 
 
 What mystery is here? I cannot see 
 The meaning in thy words ! I loved thyself; 
 The only treasure in the world to me 
 Was thy sweet heart and love. 
 
 Then I am guilty. 
 Yes, I am guilty, O very guilty! 
 My fury's my excuse. O pity me! 
 The poison works ! — O forgive, forgive ! 
 
 [Dies. A pau^e 
 
 Enter Moeto da Fei/tri. 
 
 Aye, look upon thy victims, guilty wretch ! 
 
 Then add the weight of blood to thy black heart, 
 
 For conscious sin will sink thy soul to hell. 
 
196 GIORGIONE. [ActT. 
 
 Thy presence here contaminates the air 
 With foul deformity and rotten love. 
 1 but perform my duty to these dead, 
 When I the world do rid of such a rogue, 
 Of such a rotten heart. This, then, from me ! 
 
 [Stabs Giorgio. 
 GIORGIO {falls). 
 
 The purport of thy words I cannot understand ; 
 
 But for this passage I would give to thee 
 
 A world of thanks. 'Tis better that I die, 
 
 Than live in sorrow and in constant pain. 
 
 Give me thy hand — I would not pass away, 
 
 And have it said that I had enemies 
 
 Who knew me after death ; be my brother still. 
 
 Aretino, my brother, . I know thy love, 
 
 And my soul thanks thee with my dying tongue. 
 
 My last request, before I pass away 
 
 Let me unfold — see it performed with care : 
 
 When I am dead, bury me on the hills. 
 
 Near by tlje stone which marks my father's grave ; 
 
 But leave no mark to tell the place where I 
 
 Repose in silence and in solitude, 
 
 For I would sleep in undisturbed repose. 
 
 Farewell, my brothers ! Corielli ! I come ! 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 [Picture — Dea& of Giorgione^ 
 END OF ACT V.