BERTUCCIO.
If two months,
With one year’s after exile from the state,
Be held so much in Venice.
FALIERO.
Or two days —
Why not two hours? Thou liest?
BERTUCCIO.
I did not think
To hear that question ever, and reply,
Would God I did.
FALIERO.
Thou didst not think? Who heeds
What thoughts were thine? I think this is not night
Wherein I walk through such a monstrous dream.
BERTUCCIO.
Day be it or night or twilight, sire of mine,
Two months it is that by these grave men’s doom
On whose high-hearted honour hangs our own
The dog must lie in durance.
FALIERO.
Son, I think
Thou liest not, but for shame’s most piteous sake
Wilt lay but half the truth upon thy tongue.
On: when the date is out, the man released
Shall take my seat, and I the foulest knave’s
That bleeds and swelters in the galleys. Nay,
Spare me not this: read.
BERTUCCIO.
Father, not for heaven,
God knows, though heaven stood open, would I dare
Let one reproachful shadow of casual thought
Fall toward you — but would God you had given my hand
Freedom, or I not asked it! Mine, my fault
It is that shame besets us — cursed was I
To leave brute chance and men’s malignities
Occasion so to smite our honour. Now
Two months must drain themselves away to death
Before the tongue be plucked out of his throat.
FALIERO.
Nor now nor then nor ever now need that
Be. My good son, I give thee kindly thanks
— And noble thankfulness thou art worthy of —
That thy forbearance more than my desert
Withholds thy tongue from revel in rebuke,
Thy lip from smiles, thine eye from triumph; this
Would no man else, I doubt, forbear save thee,
Being wise and young, seeing one so grey in years
So witless and so vain of spirit and weak,
So confident and very a fool as now
The man men called Faliero. Thou alone,
Thou, only thou in Venice, wouldst, I think,
So spare and so forbear me. God requite
Thy reverence and thy gentleness of heart
Not as he now requites my pride and faith,
My faith and trust in others.
BERTUCCIO.
Father! O,
Would God I had wronged them as they wrong thee now
And stood before them shamed and abject!
FALIERO.
Peace.
Here is no matter more for words or tears
Bring me my wife — thy sister — hither.
[Exit Bertuccio.
Ay
Fourscore full years — and this the crown of them?
And this the seal set on mine honours? Why,
Had I deserved this, — were it possible
That man could ever have merited of the state
This, and that such a man, being born, could be
I, — this were yet unpardonable and vile
In them to deal such justice.
Re-enter
Bertuccio
with the
Duchess.
Now, my child,
How fares it with thee?
DUCHESS.
Peace be with my lord!
FALIERO.
Heaven be with hell, say: for so far apart
Peace and thy lord stand each from other. Thou —
With thee how fares it?
DUCHESS.
Ill because of thee;
Well for mine own part.
FALIERO.
Verily so I think;
Ill fares it with thee for an old man’s sake,
By the old man’s fault, who by thyself shouldst fare
Well.
DUCHESS.
Sir, you know me, whether such a thought
Touched ever with unnatural thanklessness
And tainted so my spirit.
FALIERO.
Unnatural? No:
For thanklessness was never unnatural yet.
But thou, what thanks, my daughter, owest thou me
Who have made thee not my daughter? Had I given
Thine hand for love’s sake, ay, for love’s, away,
Then thankless wouldst thou be to thank me not.
Now —
DUCHESS.
Dear and gracious ever have you been
Toward all found worthy grace and goodness: me
You have crowned and clothed with honour, being your wife:
And toward your country —
FALIERO.
Good: forget not her.
DUCHESS.
Toward this most glorious country given of God
For man’s elect, his chosen of men, to serve,
No son more glorious hath done service.
FALIERO.
— Found
More acceptable or worthier this reward.
Nay, stint not so thy speech: make on: thou sayest
None hath deserved — what guerdon? — more than I.
DUCHESS.
My lord, was this then wrought for recompense?
For guerdon is it we serve our country? This
Meseemed her highest reward of service done,
The grace to serve her.
FALIERO.
God’s best grace and hers
For fourscore years I have held it: now I hold
A harlot’s kiss, a hangman’s wage, more high,
More precious gains and worthier good men’s care,
Than grace to serve my country.
DUCHESS.
Dear my lord,
And wherefore? not through wrath and hate of me,
Which might so much distemper and disease
The raging blood and brain of violent men
Fast bound with iron bands of honour and law
To women less than woman, that the world
Might seem to them for shame’s sake blackness, day
Night, and faith dust, and love’s face monstrous: yet
Should this not leave them dead in trust of heart
Toward motherhood and manhood, as are they
Whose hearts cast off their country: were I vile,
My shame could shame not Venice: but your heart,
Being clear of doubt as mine of shame, can hold
No thought more worthy than a poisonous dream
That so should feed its fever. If I be not
Vile, but in God’s and man’s eyes and in yours
Clean as my mother bare me clean of sin
Such as makes women shameful — then, though earth
Were full of tongues that cried on me, what hurt
Were this to you or God in heaven or me
If we no more than God permit the snake
To hurt the heel he hisses at, but shoots
No sting through flesh untainted? Were the world
Full of base eyes and tongues, ears quick to catch
Evil, and lips more swift to speed it, how
Should this make vile what were not? You it is,
My lord it is who wrongs me, to require
Revenge for that which if it need revenge
None ever can wash out: but if it need
None, being an emptier thing than air, the wrong
Were done of him that held it worth revenge.
FALIERO.
Thou art high of heart, my child — as children may
Be, and men may not.
DUCHESS.
Sir, but may not men
Learn
if they list of children? Not of me
Would I desire you, but of Christ, to learn
Forbearance.
FALIERO.
Christ was no man’s lord on earth,
No woman’s husband.
DUCHESS.
God in flesh was he.
FALIERO.
Yea; and not I.
DUCHESS.
Nay, but his servant.
FALIERO.
Yea.
Venetian born, Christian baptized, and duke
Crowned: and a man grown grey in toil of arms;
And profitable in service; and a slave
Whom all he served may spit on. That were nought.
On thee for my sake may they.
DUCHESS.
No, my lord:
On some base thing they call me, which is not
I.
FALIERO.
Girl, who put so great a heart in thee?
DUCHESS.
The man who hath shown me honour all my life.
Faliero.
FALIERO.
None of him shall learn it more.
DUCHESS.
Sir, all men shall that ever hear of him
So noble, and nobler therefore than were he
Who had held it needful on so vile a wrong
To set some seal of honour by revenge.
FALIERO.
Of me thou sayest not this. I am not the man.
DUCHESS.
If God give ear to prayer, thou shalt be.
FALIERO.
Ay —
If that which is not be, and that which is
Be not, I shall be: this I doubt not of.
DUCHESS.
My lord, am I then other, or yourself,
Because of tongues that if they smote a serf
Would seem not worth our heeding?
FALIERO.
No, and ay.
The serf should heed not, nor for his sake we.
But — Child, it may be this has made me mad.
All day remembrance rides me, and by night
Bestrides and jades my brain, as though some bell
Rang right above my head violently struck
With pealing pulse of hammers: and in sleep
Some shame I know not seems to close me round
Cloudlike, and fasten on me like a fire,
And clothe me like a garment; and it seems
Though God were good as thou, righteous and kind,
He could not help me, heal my hurt, undo
This evil men have done me, till myself
Know and take heart and kill it and be healed.
I am old, thou seest, I am old. God comfort thee
Who art not as I am, passionate and infirm:
Me shall he never.
DUCHESS.
Sir, not God nor man
But only passion bred and fed of pain
Turns your fair strength to faint infirmity
By night nor day, with dream nor reason. Is it
Less praise, less honour, less desirable,
To be reviled of hissing things whose souls
Are wingless worms and eyeless, than to have
Love, thanks, and reverence, of all souls alive
Worth reverence, thankfulness, or love? Doth hell
Give God less praise than heaven, blaspheming him
With tongues whose praise would hail him fit for hell?
Did vile men praise us, we might loathe ourselves
More than repentance yet bade ever man,
More than though good men blamed.
FALIERO.
Ay, like enough.
Thou hast a child’s cheek and a wise man’s tongue.
’Tis seventy years since I was called a child —
And wise man was I never. Hark thee, boy:
Thou art even as I was, loyal: now take note,
By me take note, and warning: turn thine heart,
Turn back thy face from honour; change, and thrive:
Learn wisdom of a fool: be not abashed,
Forsaking all thy father taught or I,
All counsels and all creeds wherewith, being fools,
We filled thee full of folly: one that bears
Fourscore years’ weight of veriest foolishness
So counsels and so charges thee. Bow down,
Down lower, if aught be lower, than lies the dust
That soils men’s feet save when they tread on men
As these our masters now on thee and me
And on my brother dead, thy father. Take
All buffets of all heels thou darest not bite
As one that thanks his chastener: let thy lip
Kiss every hand whence with some loathliest lie
Thy tongue may wrest forth wages: let thy name
For cowardice ring recorded more of men
Than ours for faith did ever: come there war,
Peril, or chance of evil against the state,
Make thyself wings, take to thee gold, begone,
Fly: strike no stroke, nor seem but fain to strike;
Haste, let the foe not find thee tarrying, run,
Cover thine head and hide thee: so shalt thou
Deserve, if man of Venice may deserve,
Honour.
BERTUCCIO.
My lord and sire!
FALIERO.
Forget those names.
There lives no title or note of fatherhood
More venerable than sound the shivering bells
That fringe a jester’s cap; no lordship now
That shines too sure and high for shame to soil
On heads less base than Steno’s.
BERTUCCIO.
Hear me, sir.
FALIERO.
Who art thou that I should hear thee? Do men hear
Me? But whate’er thou be thou art more than I;
Men call not thee the vilest name they can,
Doge.
BERTUCCIO.
The noblest yet of earth’s it were,
Would he that bears it but be strong in scorn
Of things less worth his rage than once the foes
Who found him strong in action.
FALIERO.
Had I wist,
Who am now not strong, thou seest, save only in speech,
And even in speech time-stricken — had I wist,
When for this Venice I smote Hungary down
And of her fourscore thousand gave a tithe
For crows to rend at Zara — when meseemed
I fought for men that made our commonweal
A light in God’s eye brighter than the sun,
That then I fought for Steno — Speak not thou;
I know thee, what thou wouldst, with leave, forsooth,
Say: but for these that fence him round I fought;
For these that brand me shameful for his sake,
For these that set their seal upon his words,
For these that find them worth so soft rebuke
As might a sire lay on his long-tongued child
Who prattles truth untimely — boy, for these
I fought, and fought for Steno.
Enter an Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
Noble sir,
The admiral of the arsenal desires
Audience.
FALIERO.
A man requires, thou sayest, of me
Audience? The world breeds yet, come rain or sun,
Fools — how should liars and knaves else live, or God
Be served and worshipped of the world? My lord,
Admit him.
ATTENDANT.
Sir!
FALIERO.
Thou art not Venetian?
ATTENDANT.
Yea —
As sure as you chief prince in Venice.
FALIERO.
Then,
Wert thou the lowest that welters out of life
Down in the Wells till deat
h remember him,
Thou art master and lord and sovereign over me.
If I may pray thee do me so much grace
As not to smite me therefore on the cheek,
I would desire thee give thy fellow lord
Admittance to your servant.
[Exit Attendant.
Thou, my boy,
Go. Whatsoe’er from Venice come to me,
From Venice, earth, or heaven, can be but now
Insult; and thou, being loyal, and a fool —
Kind, and my brother’s issue — fain would I,
Being foolish too, and kindly, fain I would
Thou didst not see it. Go thou, my love, with him.
Peace be with both.
[Exeunt Duchess and Bertuccio.
Enter the Admiral of the Arsenal.
ADMIRAL.
Health to the Doge! Sir,
I pray you look but on my face.
FALIERO.
It bleeds.
Thy brows are sorely bruised. Art thou come here
For surgery?
ADMIRAL.
Yea, by furtherance of your grace
To find my fame a surgeon.
FALIERO.
Fame? what is it?
The word is not Venetian, sir; it means
Honour.
ADMIRAL.
Toward whom then should I turn in trust
Save toward our highest in honour?
FALIERO.
Be it enough
Thou art found a brawler: being a soldier, man,
Be not a jester too.
ADMIRAL.
By neither name,
Sir, am I known in Venice. As yourself
Are honourable and a righteous man in rule,
I pray you not but charge you do me right.
FALIERO.
Or wilt thou have me pluck the sun from heaven
And put it in thine hand? Nay, that were nought;
The sun, though save by sight we touch it not
Nor save in thought come near it, yet in heaven
By sight and thought we reach and find it there,
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 265
