Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Were no dishonour done to fatherhood

  But honour shown to wedlock. Here is spread

  The feast, the bride-feast of my love and thine,

  Whereat the cup of death shall serve our lips

  To drink forgetfulness of all but love.

  Herein thou shalt not thwart me.

  ALBOVINE.

  God forbid.

  ROSAMUND.

  God hath forbidden: and God shall be obeyed.

  Bid thy Narsetes play the cup-bearer,

  And I will pour the wine: my hand shall fill

  The sacramental draught of love that seals

  Our eucharist of wedlock.

  ALBOVINE.

  Yea, I know

  To drink with thee is even to drink with God.

  Thou art good as any God was ever.

  ROSAMUND.

  Ay?

  We know not till we die.

  ALBOVINE.

  Thou art wise and true

  As ever maid was born of the oldworld north

  In the oldworld years of legend. Bid Narsetes

  Bring thee the chalice: thou shalt mix the draught

  Whence we will drink life, if true love be life,

  Even from the lipless mouth of bone that speaks

  Death.

  ROSAMUND.

  I will mix it well with honey and herb

  Sweet as the mead our fathers drank, and dreamed

  Their gods so drank in heaven — draughts deep and strong

  As life is strong and death is deep. I go

  To bid Narsetes hither. [Exit.

  ALBOVINE.

  Nay, by God,

  Whoever God be, never Christ or Thor

  Beheld or blessed a nobler wife, whose love

  Was found through proof of purity by fire

  More like our northern stars and snows and suns,

  And sane in strong sufficiency of soul

  As womanhood by godhead from the womb

  Elected and exalted.

  Enter NARSETES.

  NARSETES.

  King, thy wife

  Hath given me back thy message given her.

  ALBOVINE.

  Ay?

  And thou hast given her back my cup, then?

  NARSETES.

  King,

  I have given it. Loth to give it if I were,

  Ye know: she knows as thou: thou knowest as she.

  ALBOVINE.

  What ails thee to distaste thy duty? Man,

  Thou shouldst be glad, being loyal. Knowest thou not

  Her will it was that we should pledge therein

  To-night, this hour, our lifelong love, and seal it

  More surely so than priest or prayer can seal?

  NARSETES.

  Her will it was, I know, not thine. I would

  Thou hadst not yielded up to hers thy will.

  ALBOVINE.

  Thou liest: I have not yielded it: I have given

  Love, willing as the springtide sea gives up

  Her will to the eastern sea-wind’s.

  NARSETES.

  Love should give

  No more than love should crave of love: and this

  Is such a gift as hate might crave of death

  Or priests of God when angered.

  ALBOVINE.

  Hark thee, man.

  Thou art old, and when I loved thee first and found thee

  My lord and leader down the ways of war,

  My master born by right of manfulness

  And steersman through the surf of battle, time

  Gaped as a gulf between us: sire and son

  We might be: now I bid thee hold thy peace,

  Lest all these memories perish, and their death

  Give life more strong than theirs to wrath, and leave thee

  Shelterless as a waif of the air when storm

  Drives bird and beast to deathward. What I bade thee

  I bid thee do, and leave me.

  NARSETES.

  King, I go. [Exit.

  ALBOVINE.

  What, have I played the Berserk with my friend?

  So should not kings. What meant he? Men wax old,

  And age eats out the natural sense of love

  Which gives the soul sight of such nobler things

  As trust may see by grace of truth more fair

  Than doubt would fear to dream of. Rosamund

  Knows more by might of faith and love than he.

  And yet I would, and yet I would not, fool

  As even in mine own eyes I am, she had not

  Given me this proof, desired of me this sign,

  How clear her soul is toward me save of love,

  To attest her pardon of me. Would it were

  Sunrise to-morrow!

  Enter ALMACHILDES and HILDEGARD.

  Whence come these, to bring

  Sunrise about me? Nay, I bade you be

  Here. Does thy memory too not fail thee, boy,

  Burnt out by stress of summer

  ALMACHILDES.

  No.

  ALBOVINE,

  Nor hers?

  HILDEGARD.

  How might it, king? Thou art good to us.

  ALBOVINE.

  All things born

  Seem good to lovers in their spring of love,

  And all men should be. Maiden, God doth well

  To give us foresight of the sight of heaven

  By looking in such eyes as love like thine

  Kindles and veils for love’s sake. Fain was I

  To see my boy’s bride and her bridegroom here

  Before the feast broke in on us, and bless

  Their love with mine — if mine be blessing.

  HILDEGARD.

  Sire,

  As the earth gives thanks in spring for the April sun

  I would and cannot yield you thanks for this.

  ALMACHILDES.

  I cannot thank at all. I cannot thank

  God.

  ALBOVINE.

  Art thou mazed with love? For her thou canst not

  Thank God? What feverish doubt of love or life

  Crazes or cramps thy spirit?

  ALMACHILDES.

  I cannot say.

  My heart, if any heart be left in me,

  Is as it was not thankless: yet, my king,

  I know not how to thank thee.

  ALBOVINE.

  Thank me not:

  I did not bid thee thank me. Love thy love,

  And God be with you: so may God be found

  Thankworthier. Keep some heart in thee awhile

  For God’s and her sake.

  ALMACHILDES.

  All I may I will.

  Re-enter ROSAMUND, followed by NARSETES and Guests.

  ALBOVINE.

  Sit, friends and warriors: thou, my boy, next me,

  And by my wife thy bride. This night, that leaves

  But two days more for June to burn and live,

  Plights with my queen’s troth mine in life and death

  This last one time for ever, in the cup

  Whence none shall drink hereafter. Not in scorn,

  Sirs, but in honour now the draught is pledged

  Between us, ere this relic stand enshrined

  And hallowed as a saint’s on the altar. Queen,

  I drink to thee.

  ROSAMUND.

  I thank thee. Good Narsetes,

  Give him the chalice. Women slain by fire

  Thirst not as I to pledge thee.

  [As ALBOVINE is about to take the cup,

  ALMACHILDES rises and stabs him.

  ALBOVINE.

  Thou, my boy? [Dies.

  ROSAMUND.

  I. But he hears not. Now, my warrior guests,

  I drink to the onward passage of his soul

  Death. Had my hand turned coward or played me false,

  This man that is my hand, and less than I

  And less than he bloodguilty, this my death

  Had b
een my husband’s: now he has left it me.

  [Drinks.

  How innocent are all but he and I

  No time is mine to tell you. Truth shall tell.

  I pardon thee, my husband: pardon me. [Dies.

  NARSETES.

  Let none make moan. This doom is none of man’s.

  THE DUKE OF GANDIA

  CONTENTS

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  SCENE I

  SCENE II

  SCENE III

  SCENE IV

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  POPE ALEXANDER VI.

  FRANCESCO BORGIA, Duke of Gandia }his sons

  CÆSAR BORGIA, Cardinal of Valencia }

  DON MICHELE COREGLIA, called MICHELOTTO, agent for Cæsar Borgia.

  GIORGIO SCHIAVONE, a Tiber waterman.

  TWO ASSASSINS.

  AN OFFICER of the Papal Household.

  VANNOZZA CATANEI, surnamed LA ROSA, concubine to the Pope.

  LUCREZIA BORGIA, daughter to Alexander and Vannozza.

  SCENE: ROME.

  TIME: JUNE 14 - JULY 22, 1497.

  SCENE I

  The Vatican

  Enter CÆSAR and VANNOZZA

  CÆSAR

  Now, mother, though thou love my brother more,

  Am I not more thy son than he?

  VANNOZZA

  Not more.

  CÆSAR

  Have I more Spaniard in me - less of thee?

  Did our Most Holiest father thrill thy womb

  With more Italian passion than brought forth

  Me?

  VANNOZZA

  Child, thine elder never was as thou -

  Spake never thus.

  CÆSAR

  I doubt it not. But I,

  Mother, am not mine elder. He desires

  And he enjoys the life God gives him - God,

  The Pope our father, and thy sacred self,

  Mother beloved and hallowed. I desire

  More.

  VANNOZZA

  Thou wast ever sleepless as the wind -

  A child anhungered for thy time to be

  Man. See thy purple about thee. Art thou not

  Cardinal?

  CÆSAR

  Ay; my father’s eminence

  Set so the stamp on mine. I will not die

  Cardinal.

  VANNOZZA

  Cæsar, wilt thou cleave my heart?

  Have I not loved thee?

  CÆSAR

  Ay, fair mother - ay.

  Thou hast loved my father likewise. Dost thou love

  Giulia - the sweet Farnese - called the Fair

  In all the Roman streets that call thee Rose?

  And that bright babe Giovanni, whom our sire,

  Thy holy lord and hers, hath stamped at birth

  As duke of Nepi?

  VANNOZZA

  When thy sire begat

  Thee, sinful though he ever was - fierce, fell,

  Spaniard - I fear me, Jesus for his sins

  Bade Satan pass into him.

  CÆSAR

  And fill thee full,

  Sweet sinless mother. Fear it not. Thou hast

  Children more loved of him and thee than me -

  Our bright Francesco, born to smile and sway,

  And her whose face makes pale the sun in heaven,

  Whose eyes outlaugh the splendour of the sea,

  Whose hair has all noon’s wonders in its weft,

  Whose mouth is God’s and Italy’s one rose,

  Lucrezia.

  VANNOZZA

  Dost thou love them then? My child,

  How should not I then love thee?

  CÆSAR

  God alone

  Knows. Was not God - the God of love, who bade

  His son be man because he hated man,

  And saw him scourged and hanging, and at last

  Forgave the sin wherewith he had stamped us, seeing

  So fair a full atonement - was not God

  Bridesman when Christ’s crowned vicar took to bride

  My mother?

  VANNOZZA

  Speak not thou to me of God.

  I have sinned, I have sinned - I would I had died a nun,

  Cloistered!

  CÆSAR

  There too my sire had found thee. Priests

  Make way where warriors dare not - save when war

  Sets wide the floodgates of the weirs of hell.

  And what hast thou to do with sin? Hath he

  Whose sin was thine not given thee there and then

  God’s actual absolution? Mary lived

  God’s virgin, and God’s mother: mine art thou,

  Who am Christlike even as thou art virginal.

  And if thou love me or love me not God knows,

  And God, who made me and my sire and thee,

  May take the charge upon him. I am I.

  Somewhat I think to do before my day

  Pass from me. Did I love thee not at all,

  I would not bid thee know it.

  VANNOZZA

  Alas, my son!

  CÆSAR

  Alas, my mother, sounds no sense for men -

  Rings but reverberate folly, whence resounds

  Returning laughter. Weep or smile on me,

  Thy sunshine or thy rainbow softens not

  The mortal earth wherein thou hast clad me. Nay,

  But rather would I see thee smile than weep,

  Mother. Thou art lovelier, smiling.

  VANNOZZA

  What is this

  Thou hast at heart to do? God’s judgment hangs

  Above us. I that girdled thee in me

  As Mary girdled Jesus yet unborn

  - Thou dost believe it? A creedless heretic

  Thou art not?

  CÆSAR

  I? God’s vicar’s child?

  VANNOZZA

  Be God

  Praised! I, then, I, thy mother, bid thee, pray,

  Pray thee but say what hungers in thy heart,

  And whither thou wouldst hurl the strenuous life

  That works within thee.

  CÆSAR

  Whither? Am not I

  Hinge of the gate that opens heaven - that bids

  God open when my sire thrusts in the key -

  Cardinal? Canst thou dream I had rather be

  Duke?

  Enter FRANCESCO

  FRANCESCO

  Wilt thou take mine office, Cæsar mine?

  I heard thy laugh deride it. Mother, whence

  Comes that sweet gift of grace from dawn to dawn

  That daily shows thee sweeter?

  CÆSAR

  Knowest thou none

  Lovelier?

  VANNOZZA

  My Cæsar finds me not so fair.

  Thou art over fond, Francesco.

  CÆSAR

  Nay, no whit.

  Our heavenly father on earth adores no less

  Our mother than our sister: and I hold

  His heart and eye, his spirit and his sense,

  Infallible.

  Enter the POPE

  ALEXANDER

  Jest not with God. I heard

  A holy word, a hallowing epithet,

  Cardinal Cæsar, trip across thy tongue

  Lightly.

  CÆSAR

  Most holiest father, I desire

  Paternal absolution - when thy laugh

  Has waned from lip and eyelid.

  ALEXANDER

  Take it now,

  And Christ preserve thee, Cæsar, as thou art,

  To serve him as I serve him. Rose of mine,

  My rose of roses, whence has fallen this dew

  That dims the sweetest eyes love ever lit

  With light that mocks the morning?

  VANNOZZA

  Nay, my lord,

  I know not - nay, I knew not if I wept.

  ALEXANDER

  Our sons and Christ’s and Peter’s whom we praise,

  Are they - ar
e these - fallen out?

  FRANCESCO

  Not I with him,

  Nor he, I think, with me.

  CÆSAR

  Forbid it, God!

  The God that set thee where thou art, and there

  Sustains thee, bids the love he kindles bind

  Brother to brother.

  ALEXANDER

  God or no God, man

  Must live and let man live - while one man’s life

  Galls not another’s. Fools and fiends are men

  Who play the fiend that is not. Why shouldst thou,

  Girt with the girdle of the church, and given

  Power to preside on spirit and flesh - or thou,

  Clothed with the glad world’s glory - priest or prince,

  Turn on thy brother an evil eye, or deem

  Your father God hath dealt his doom amiss

  Toward either or toward any? Hath not Rome,

  Hath not the Lord Christ’s kingdom, where his will

  Is done on earth, enough of all that man

  Thirsts, hungers, lusts for - pleasure, pride, and power -

  To sate you and to share between you? Whence

  Should she, the godless heathen’s goddess once,

  Discord, heave up her hissing head again

  Between love’s Christian children - love’s? Hath God

  Cut short the thrill that glorifies the flesh,

  Chilled the sharp rapturous pang that burns the blood,