diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:15:59 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:15:59 -0700 |
| commit | 73151a99c27717d4b63edca62e51cfeecb374e22 (patch) | |
| tree | 75d5433dc145857ecf30dc3476e46f3f023f6045 /875-0.txt | |
Diffstat (limited to '875-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 875-0.txt | 5875 |
1 files changed, 5875 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/875-0.txt b/875-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d6b342d --- /dev/null +++ b/875-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5875 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Duchess of Padua, by Oscar Wilde + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Duchess of Padua + A Play + + +Author: Oscar Wilde + + + +Release Date: October 26, 2014 [eBook #875] +[This file was first posted on April 9, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUCHESS OF PADUA*** + + +Transcribed from the 1916 Methuen and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + THE + DUCHESS OF PADUA + + + A PLAY + + BY + OSCAR WILDE + + * * * * * + + METHUEN & CO. LTD. + 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. + LONDON + + _Fifth Edition_ + + + + +THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY + + +Simone Gesso, Duke of Padua + +Beatrice, his Wife + +Andreas Pollajuolo, Cardinal of Padua + +Maffio Petrucci, Jeppo Vitellozzo, Taddeo Bardi } Gentlemen of the Duke’s +Household + +Guido Ferranti, a Young Man + +Ascanio Cristofano, his Friend + +Count Moranzone, an Old Man + +Bernardo Cavalcanti, Lord Justice of Padua + +Hugo, the Headsman + +Lucy, a Tire woman + +Servants, Citizens, Soldiers, Monks, Falconers with their hawks and dogs, +etc. + + * * * * * + +PLACE: _Padua_ + +TIME: _The latter half of the Sixteenth Century_ + + + + +THE SCENES OF THE PLAY + +ACT I. _The Market Place of Padua_ (25 _minutes_). +ACT II. _Room in the Duke’s Palace_ (36 _minutes_). +ACT III. _Corridor in the Duke’s Palace_ (29 + _minutes_). +ACT IV. _The Hall of Justice_ (31 _minutes_). +ACT V. _The Dungeon_ (25 _minutes_). + + _Style of Architecture_: Italian, Gothic and Romanesque. + + + + +ACT I + + + SCENE + +_The Market Place of Padua at noon_; _in the background is the great +Cathedral of Padua_; _the architecture is Romanesque_, _and wrought in +black and white marbles_; _a flight of marble steps leads up to the +Cathedral door_; _at the foot of the steps are two large stone lions_; +_the houses on each aide of the stage have coloured awnings from their +windows_, _and are flanked by stone arcades_; _on the right of the stage +is the public fountain_, _with a triton in green bronze blowing from a +conch_; _around the fountain is a stone seat_; _the bell of the Cathedral +is ringing_, _and the citizens_, _men_, _women and children_, _are +passing into the Cathedral_. + +[_Enter_ GUIDO FERRANTI _and_ ASCANIO CRISTOFANO.] + + Now by my life, Guido, I will go no farther; for if I walk another + step I will have no life left to swear by; this wild-goose errand of + yours! + + [_Sits down on the step of the fountain_.] + +GUIDO + + I think it must be here. [_Goes up to passer-by and doffs his cap_.] + Pray, sir, is this the market place, and that the church of Santa + Croce? [_Citizen bows_.] I thank you, sir. + +ASCANIO + + Well? + +GUIDO + + Ay! it is here. + +ASCANIO + + I would it were somewhere else, for I see no wine-shop. + +GUIDO + + [_Taking a letter from his pocket and reading it_.] ‘The hour noon; + the city, Padua; the place, the market; and the day, Saint Philip’s + Day.’ + +ASCANIO + + And what of the man, how shall we know him? + +GUIDO [_reading still_] + + ‘I will wear a violet cloak with a silver falcon broidered on the + shoulder.’ A brave attire, Ascanio. + +ASCANIO + + I’d sooner have my leathern jerkin. And you think he will tell you of + your father? + +GUIDO + + Why, yes! It is a month ago now, you remember; I was in the vineyard, + just at the corner nearest the road, where the goats used to get in, a + man rode up and asked me was my name Guido, and gave me this letter, + signed ‘Your Father’s Friend,’ bidding me be here to-day if I would + know the secret of my birth, and telling me how to recognise the + writer! I had always thought old Pedro was my uncle, but he told me + that he was not, but that I had been left a child in his charge by + some one he had never since seen. + +ASCANIO + + And you don’t know who your father is? + +GUIDO + + No. + +ASCANIO + + No recollection of him even? + +GUIDO + + None, Ascanio, none. + +ASCANIO [_laughing_] + + Then he could never have boxed your ears so often as my father did + mine. + +GUIDO [_smiling_] + + I am sure you never deserved it. + +ASCANIO + + Never; and that made it worse. I hadn’t the consciousness of guilt to + buoy me up. What hour did you say he fixed? + +GUIDO + + Noon. + + [_Clock in the Cathedral strikes_.] + +ASCANIO + + It is that now, and your man has not come. I don’t believe in him, + Guido. I think it is some wench who has set her eye at you; and, as I + have followed you from Perugia to Padua, I swear you shall follow me + to the nearest tavern. [_Rises_.] By the great gods of eating, + Guido, I am as hungry as a widow is for a husband, as tired as a young + maid is of good advice, and as dry as a monk’s sermon. Come, Guido, + you stand there looking at nothing, like the fool who tried to look + into his own mind; your man will not come. + +GUIDO + + Well, I suppose you are right. Ah! [_Just as he is leaving the stage + with_ ASCANIO, _enter_ LORD MORANZONE _in a violet cloak_, _with a + silver falcon broidered on the shoulder_; _he passes across to the + Cathedral_, _and just as he is going in_ GUIDO _runs up and touches + him_.] + +MORANZONE + + Guido Ferranti, thou hast come in time. + +GUIDO + + What! Does my father live? + +MORANZONE + + Ay! lives in thee. + Thou art the same in mould and lineament, + Carriage and form, and outward semblances; + I trust thou art in noble mind the same. + +GUIDO + + Oh, tell me of my father; I have lived + But for this moment. + +MORANZONE + + We must be alone. + +GUIDO + + This is my dearest friend, who out of love + Has followed me to Padua; as two brothers, + There is no secret which we do not share. + +MORANZONE + + There is one secret which ye shall not share; + Bid him go hence. + +GUIDO [_to_ ASCANIO] + + Come back within the hour. + He does not know that nothing in this world + Can dim the perfect mirror of our love. + Within the hour come. + +ASCANIO + + Speak not to him, + There is a dreadful terror in his look. + +GUIDO [_laughing_] + + Nay, nay, I doubt not that he has come to tell + That I am some great Lord of Italy, + And we will have long days of joy together. + Within the hour, dear Ascanio. + + [_Exit_ ASCANIO.] + + Now tell me of my father? [_Sits down on a stone seat_.] + Stood he tall? + I warrant he looked tall upon his horse. + His hair was black? or perhaps a reddish gold, + Like a red fire of gold? Was his voice low? + The very bravest men have voices sometimes + Full of low music; or a clarion was it + That brake with terror all his enemies? + Did he ride singly? or with many squires + And valiant gentlemen to serve his state? + For oftentimes methinks I feel my veins + Beat with the blood of kings. Was he a king? + +MORANZONE + + Ay, of all men he was the kingliest. + +GUIDO [_proudly_] + + Then when you saw my noble father last + He was set high above the heads of men? + +MORANZONE + + Ay, he was high above the heads of men, + +[_Walks over to_ GUIDO _and puts his hand upon his shoulder_.] + + On a red scaffold, with a butcher’s block + Set for his neck. + +GUIDO [_leaping up_] + + What dreadful man art thou, + That like a raven, or the midnight owl, + Com’st with this awful message from the grave? + +MORANZONE + + I am known here as the Count Moranzone, + Lord of a barren castle on a rock, + With a few acres of unkindly land + And six not thrifty servants. But I was one + Of Parma’s noblest princes; more than that, + I was your father’s friend. + +GUIDO [_clasping his hand_] + + Tell me of him. + +MORANZONE + + You are the son of that great Duke Lorenzo, + He was the Prince of Parma, and the Duke + Of all the fair domains of Lombardy + Down to the gates of Florence; nay, Florence even + Was wont to pay him tribute— + +GUIDO + + Come to his death. + +MORANZONE + + You will hear that soon enough. Being at war— + O noble lion of war, that would not suffer + Injustice done in Italy!—he led + The very flower of chivalry against + That foul adulterous Lord of Rimini, + Giovanni Malatesta—whom God curse! + And was by him in treacherous ambush taken, + And like a villain, or a low-born knave, + Was by him on the public scaffold murdered. + +GUIDO [_clutching his dagger_] + + Doth Malatesta live? + +MORANZONE + + No, he is dead. + +GUIDO + + Did you say dead? O too swift runner, Death, + Couldst thou not wait for me a little space, + And I had done thy bidding! + +MORANZONE [_clutching his wrist_] + + Thou canst do it! + The man who sold thy father is alive. + +GUIDO + + Sold! was my father sold? + +MORANZONE + + Ay! trafficked for, + Like a vile chattel, for a price betrayed, + Bartered and bargained for in privy market + By one whom he had held his perfect friend, + One he had trusted, one he had well loved, + One whom by ties of kindness he had bound— + +GUIDO + + And he lives + Who sold my father? + +MORANZONE + + I will bring you to him. + +GUIDO + + So, Judas, thou art living! well, I will make + This world thy field of blood, so buy it straight-way, + For thou must hang there. + +MORANZONE + + Judas said you, boy? + Yes, Judas in his treachery, but still + He was more wise than Judas was, and held + Those thirty silver pieces not enough. + +GUIDO + + What got he for my father’s blood? + +MORANZONE + + What got he? + Why cities, fiefs, and principalities, + Vineyards, and lands. + +GUIDO + + Of which he shall but keep + Six feet of ground to rot in. Where is he, + This damned villain, this foul devil? where? + Show me the man, and come he cased in steel, + In complete panoply and pride of war, + Ay, guarded by a thousand men-at-arms, + Yet I shall reach him through their spears, and feel + The last black drop of blood from his black heart + Crawl down my blade. Show me the man, I say, + And I will kill him. + +MORANZONE [_coldly_] + + Fool, what revenge is there? + Death is the common heritage of all, + And death comes best when it comes suddenly. + + [_Goes up close to_ GUIDO.] + + Your father was betrayed, there is your cue; + For you shall sell the seller in his turn. + I will make you of his household, you shall sit + At the same board with him, eat of his bread— + +GUIDO + + O bitter bread! + +MORANZONE + + Thy palate is too nice, + Revenge will make it sweet. Thou shalt o’ nights + Pledge him in wine, drink from his cup, and be + His intimate, so he will fawn on thee, + Love thee, and trust thee in all secret things. + If he bid thee be merry thou must laugh, + And if it be his humour to be sad + Thou shalt don sables. Then when the time is ripe— + + [GUIDO _clutches his sword_.] + + Nay, nay, I trust thee not; your hot young blood, + Undisciplined nature, and too violent rage + Will never tarry for this great revenge, + But wreck itself on passion. + +GUIDO + + Thou knowest me not. + Tell me the man, and I in everything + Will do thy bidding. + +MORANZONE + + Well, when the time is ripe, + The victim trusting and the occasion sure, + I will by sudden secret messenger + Send thee a sign. + +GUIDO + + How shall I kill him, tell me? + +MORANZONE + + That night thou shalt creep into his private chamber; + But if he sleep see that thou wake him first, + And hold thy hand upon his throat, ay! that way, + Then having told him of what blood thou art, + Sprung from what father, and for what revenge, + Bid him to pray for mercy; when he prays, + Bid him to set a price upon his life, + And when he strips himself of all his gold + Tell him thou needest not gold, and hast not mercy, + And do thy business straight away. Swear to me + Thou wilt not kill him till I bid thee do it, + Or else I go to mine own house, and leave + Thee ignorant, and thy father unavenged. + +GUIDO + + Now by my father’s sword— + +MORANZONE + + The common hangman + Brake that in sunder in the public square. + +GUIDO + + Then by my father’s grave— + +MORANZONE + + What grave? what grave? + Your noble father lieth in no grave, + I saw his dust strewn on the air, his ashes + Whirled through the windy streets like common straws + To plague a beggar’s eyesight, and his head, + That gentle head, set on the prison spike, + For the vile rabble in their insolence + To shoot their tongues at. + +GUIDO + + Was it so indeed? + Then by my father’s spotless memory, + And by the shameful manner of his death, + And by the base betrayal by his friend, + For these at least remain, by these I swear + I will not lay my hand upon his life + Until you bid me, then—God help his soul, + For he shall die as never dog died yet. + And now, the sign, what is it? + +MORANZONE + + This dagger, boy; + It was your father’s. + +GUIDO + + Oh, let me look at it! + I do remember now my reputed uncle, + That good old husbandman I left at home, + Told me a cloak wrapped round me when a babe + Bare too such yellow leopards wrought in gold; + I like them best in steel, as they are here, + They suit my purpose better. Tell me, sir, + Have you no message from my father to me? + +MORANZONE + + Poor boy, you never saw that noble father, + For when by his false friend he had been sold, + Alone of all his gentlemen I escaped + To bear the news to Parma to the Duchess. + +GUIDO + + Speak to me of my mother. + +MORANZONE + + When thy mother + Heard my black news, she fell into a swoon, + And, being with untimely travail seized— + Bare thee into the world before thy time, + And then her soul went heavenward, to wait + Thy father, at the gates of Paradise. + +GUIDO + + A mother dead, a father sold and bartered! + I seem to stand on some beleaguered wall, + And messenger comes after messenger + With a new tale of terror; give me breath, + Mine ears are tired. + +MORANZONE + + When thy mother died, + Fearing our enemies, I gave it out + Thou wert dead also, and then privily + Conveyed thee to an ancient servitor, + Who by Perugia lived; the rest thou knowest. + +GUIDO + + Saw you my father afterwards? + +MORANZONE + + Ay! once; + In mean attire, like a vineyard dresser, + I stole to Rimini. + +GUIDO [_taking his hand_] + + O generous heart! + +MORANZONE + + One can buy everything in Rimini, + And so I bought the gaolers! when your father + Heard that a man child had been born to him, + His noble face lit up beneath his helm + Like a great fire seen far out at sea, + And taking my two hands, he bade me, Guido, + To rear you worthy of him; so I have reared you + To revenge his death upon the friend who sold him. + +GUIDO + + Thou hast done well; I for my father thank thee. + And now his name? + +MORANZONE + + How you remind me of him, + You have each gesture that your father had. + +GUIDO + + The traitor’s name? + +MORANZONE + + Thou wilt hear that anon; + The Duke and other nobles at the Court + Are coming hither. + +GUIDO + + What of that? his name? + +MORANZONE + + Do they not seem a valiant company + Of honourable, honest gentlemen? + +GUIDO + + His name, milord? + +[_Enter the_ DUKE OF PADUA _with_ COUNT BARDI, MAFFIO, PETRUCCI, _and +other gentlemen of his Court_.] + +MORANZONE [_quickly_] + + The man to whom I kneel + Is he who sold your father! mark me well. + +GUIDO [_clutches hit dagger_] + + The Duke! + +MORANZONE + + Leave off that fingering of thy knife. + Hast thou so soon forgotten? [_Kneels to the_ DUKE.] + My noble Lord. + +DUKE + + Welcome, Count Moranzone; ’tis some time + Since we have seen you here in Padua. + We hunted near your castle yesterday— + Call you it castle? that bleak house of yours + Wherein you sit a-mumbling o’er your beads, + Telling your vices like a good old man. + + [_Catches sight of_ GUIDO _and starts back_.] + + Who is that? + +MORANZONE + + My sister’s son, your Grace, + Who being now of age to carry arms, + Would for a season tarry at your Court + +DUKE [_still looking at_ GUIDO] + + What is his name? + +MORANZONE + + Guido Ferranti, sir. + +DUKE + + His city? + +MORANZONE + + He is Mantuan by birth. + +DUKE [_advancing towards_ GUIDO] + + You have the eyes of one I used to know, + But he died childless. Are you honest, boy? + Then be not spendthrift of your honesty, + But keep it to yourself; in Padua + Men think that honesty is ostentatious, so + It is not of the fashion. Look at these lords. + +COUNT BARDI [_aside_] + + Here is some bitter arrow for us, sure. + +DUKE + + Why, every man among them has his price, + Although, to do them justice, some of them + Are quite expensive. + +COUNT BARDI [_aside_] + + There it comes indeed. + +DUKE + + So be not honest; eccentricity + Is not a thing should ever be encouraged, + Although, in this dull stupid age of ours, + The most eccentric thing a man can do + Is to have brains, then the mob mocks at him; + And for the mob, despise it as I do, + I hold its bubble praise and windy favours + In such account, that popularity + Is the one insult I have never suffered. + +MAFFIO [_aside_] + + He has enough of hate, if he needs that. + +DUKE + + Have prudence; in your dealings with the world + Be not too hasty; act on the second thought, + First impulses are generally good. + +GUIDO [_aside_] + + Surely a toad sits on his lips, and spills its venom there. + +DUKE + + See thou hast enemies, + Else will the world think very little of thee; + It is its test of power; yet see thou show’st + A smiling mask of friendship to all men, + Until thou hast them safely in thy grip, + Then thou canst crush them. + +GUIDO [_aside_] + + O wise philosopher! + That for thyself dost dig so deep a grave. + +MORANZONE [_to him_] + + Dost thou mark his words? + +GUIDO + + Oh, be thou sure I do. + +DUKE + + And be not over-scrupulous; clean hands + With nothing in them make a sorry show. + If you would have the lion’s share of life + You must wear the fox’s skin. Oh, it will fit you; + It is a coat which fitteth every man. + +GUIDO + + Your Grace, I shall remember. + +DUKE + + That is well, boy, well. + I would not have about me shallow fools, + Who with mean scruples weigh the gold of life, + And faltering, paltering, end by failure; failure, + The only crime which I have not committed: + I would have _men_ about me. As for conscience, + Conscience is but the name which cowardice + Fleeing from battle scrawls upon its shield. + You understand me, boy? + +GUIDO + + I do, your Grace, + And will in all things carry out the creed + Which you have taught me. + +MAFFIO + + I never heard your Grace + So much in the vein for preaching; let the Cardinal + Look to his laurels, sir. + +DUKE + + The Cardinal! + Men follow my creed, and they gabble his. + I do not think much of the Cardinal; + Although he is a holy churchman, and + I quite admit his dulness. Well, sir, from now + We count you of our household + +[_He holds out his hand for_ GUIDO _to kiss_. GUIDO _starts back in +horror_, _but at a gesture from_ COUNT MORANZONE, _kneels and kisses +it_.] + + We will see + That you are furnished with such equipage + As doth befit your honour and our state. + +GUIDO + + I thank your Grace most heartily. + +DUKE + + Tell me again + What is your name? + +GUIDO + + Guido Ferranti, sir. + +DUKE + + And you are Mantuan? Look to your wives, my lords, + When such a gallant comes to Padua. + Thou dost well to laugh, Count Bardi; I have noted + How merry is that husband by whose hearth + Sits an uncomely wife. + +MAFFIO + + May it please your Grace, + The wives of Padua are above suspicion. + +DUKE + + What, are they so ill-favoured! Let us go, + This Cardinal detains our pious Duchess; + His sermon and his beard want cutting both: + Will you come with us, sir, and hear a text + From holy Jerome? + +MORANZONE [_bowing_] + + My liege, there are some matters— + +DUKE [_interrupting_] + + Thou need’st make no excuse for missing mass. + Come, gentlemen. + + [_Exit with his suite into Cathedral_.] + +GUIDO [_after a pause_] + + So the Duke sold my father; + I kissed his hand. + +MORANZONE + + Thou shalt do that many times. + +GUIDO + + Must it be so? + +MORANZONE + + Ay! thou hast sworn an oath. + +GUIDO + + That oath shall make me marble. + +MORANZONE + + Farewell, boy, + Thou wilt not see me till the time is ripe. + +GUIDO + + I pray thou comest quickly. + +MORANZONE + + I will come + When it is time; be ready. + +GUIDO + + Fear me not. + +MORANZONE + + Here is your friend; see that you banish him + Both from your heart and Padua. + +GUIDO + + From Padua, + Not from my heart. + +MORANZONE + + Nay, from thy heart as well, + I will not leave thee till I see thee do it. + +GUIDO + + Can I have no friend? + +MORANZONE + + Revenge shall be thy friend; + Thou need’st no other. + +GUIDO + + Well, then be it so. + + [_Enter_ ASCANIO CRISTOFANO.] + +ASCANIO + + Come, Guido, I have been beforehand with you in everything, for I have + drunk a flagon of wine, eaten a pasty, and kissed the maid who served + it. Why, you look as melancholy as a schoolboy who cannot buy apples, + or a politician who cannot sell his vote. What news, Guido, what + news? + +GUIDO + + Why, that we two must part, Ascanio. + +ASCANIO + + That would be news indeed, but it is not true. + +GUIDO + + Too true it is, you must get hence, Ascanio, + And never look upon my face again. + +ASCANIO + + No, no; indeed you do not know me, Guido; + ’Tis true I am a common yeoman’s son, + Nor versed in fashions of much courtesy; + But, if you are nobly born, cannot I be + Your serving man? I will tend you with more love + Than any hired servant. + +GUIDO [_clasping his hand_] + + Ascanio! + + [_Sees_ MORANZONE _looking at him and drops_ ASCANIO’S _hand_.] + + It cannot be. + +ASCANIO + + What, is it so with you? + I thought the friendship of the antique world + Was not yet dead, but that the Roman type + Might even in this poor and common age + Find counterparts of love; then by this love + Which beats between us like a summer sea, + Whatever lot has fallen to your hand + May I not share it? + +GUIDO + + Share it? + +ASCANIO + + Ay! + +GUIDO + + No, no. + +ASCANIO + + Have you then come to some inheritance + Of lordly castle, or of stored-up gold? + +GUIDO [_bitterly_] + + Ay! I have come to my inheritance. + O bloody legacy! and O murderous dole! + Which, like the thrifty miser, must I hoard, + And to my own self keep; and so, I pray you, + Let us part here. + +ASCANIO + + What, shall we never more + Sit hand in hand, as we were wont to sit, + Over some book of ancient chivalry + Stealing a truant holiday from school, + Follow the huntsmen through the autumn woods, + And watch the falcons burst their tasselled jesses, + When the hare breaks from covert. + +GUIDO + + Never more. + +ASCANIO + + Must I go hence without a word of love? + +GUIDO + + You must go hence, and may love go with you. + +ASCANIO + + You are unknightly, and ungenerous. + +GUIDO + + Unknightly and ungenerous if you will. + Why should we waste more words about the matter + Let us part now. + +ASCANIO + + Have you no message, Guido? + +GUIDO + + None; my whole past was but a schoolboy’s dream; + To-day my life begins. Farewell. + +ASCANIO + + Farewell [_exit slowly_.] + +GUIDO + + Now are you satisfied? Have you not seen + My dearest friend, and my most loved companion, + Thrust from me like a common kitchen knave! + Oh, that I did it! Are you not satisfied? + +MORANZONE + + Ay! I am satisfied. Now I go hence, + Do not forget the sign, your father’s dagger, + And do the business when I send it to you. + +GUIDO + + Be sure I shall. [_Exit_ LORD MORANZONE.] + +GUIDO + + O thou eternal heaven! + If there is aught of nature in my soul, + Of gentle pity, or fond kindliness, + Wither it up, blast it, bring it to nothing, + Or if thou wilt not, then will I myself + Cut pity with a sharp knife from my heart + And strangle mercy in her sleep at night + Lest she speak to me. Vengeance there I have it. + Be thou my comrade and my bedfellow, + Sit by my side, ride to the chase with me, + When I am weary sing me pretty songs, + When I am light o’ heart, make jest with me, + And when I dream, whisper into my ear + The dreadful secret of a father’s murder— + Did I say murder? [_Draws his dagger_.] + Listen, thou terrible God! + Thou God that punishest all broken oaths, + And bid some angel write this oath in fire, + That from this hour, till my dear father’s murder + In blood I have revenged, I do forswear + The noble ties of honourable friendship, + The noble joys of dear companionship, + Affection’s bonds, and loyal gratitude, + Ay, more, from this same hour I do forswear + All love of women, and the barren thing + Which men call beauty— + +[_The organ peals in the Cathedral_, _and under a canopy of cloth of +silver tissue_, _borne by four pages in scarlet_, _the_ DUCHESS OF PADUA +_comes down the steps_; _as she passes across their eyes meet for a +moment_, _and as she leaves the stage she looks back at_ GUIDO, _and the +dagger falls from his hand_.] + + Oh! who is that? + +A CITIZEN + + The Duchess of Padua! + + * * * * * + + END OF ACT I. + + * * * * * + + + + +ACT II + + + SCENE + +_A state room in the Ducal Palace_, _hung with tapestries representing +the Masque of Venus_; _a large door in the centre opens into a corridor +of red marble_, _through which one can see a view of Padua_; _a large +canopy is set_ (_R.C._) _with three thrones_, _one a little lower than +the others_; _the ceiling is made of long gilded beams_; _furniture of +the period_, _chairs covered with gilt leather_, _and buffets set with +gold and silver plate_, _and chests painted with mythological scenes_. +_A number of the courtiers is out on the corridor looking from it down +into the street below_; _from the street comes the roar of a mob and +cries of_ ‘_Death to the Duke_’: _after a little interval enter the Duke +very calmly_; _he is leaning on the arm of Guido Ferranti_; _with him +enters also the Lord Cardinal_; _the mob still shouting_. + +DUKE + + No, my Lord Cardinal, I weary of her! + Why, she is worse than ugly, she is good. + +MAFFIO [_excitedly_] + + Your Grace, there are two thousand people there + Who every moment grow more clamorous. + +DUKE + + Tut, man, they waste their strength upon their lungs! + People who shout so loud, my lords, do nothing; + The only men I fear are silent men. + + [_A yell from the people_.] + + You see, Lord Cardinal, how my people love me. + + [_Another yell_.] + + Go, Petrucci, + And tell the captain of the guard below + To clear the square. Do you not hear me, sir? + Do what I bid you. + + [_Exit_ PETRUCCI.] + +CARDINAL + + I beseech your Grace + To listen to their grievances. + +DUKE [_sitting on his throne_] + + Ay! the peaches + Are not so big this year as they were last. + I crave your pardon, my lord Cardinal, + I thought you spake of peaches. + + [_A cheer from the people_.] + + What is that? + +GUIDO [_rushes to the window_] + + The Duchess has gone forth into the square, + And stands between the people and the guard, + And will not let them shoot. + +DUKE + + The devil take her! + +GUIDO [_still at the window_] + + And followed by a dozen of the citizens + Has come into the Palace. + +DUKE [_starting up_] + + By Saint James, + Our Duchess waxes bold! + +BARDI + + Here comes the Duchess. + +DUKE + + Shut that door there; this morning air is cold. + + [_They close the door on the corridor_.] + +[_Enter the Duchess followed by a crowd of meanly dressed Citizens_.] + +DUCHESS [_flinging herself upon her knees_] + + I do beseech your Grace to give us audience. + +DUKE + + What are these grievances? + +DUCHESS + + Alas, my Lord, + Such common things as neither you nor I, + Nor any of these noble gentlemen, + Have ever need at all to think about; + They say the bread, the very bread they eat, + Is made of sorry chaff. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Ay! so it is, + Nothing but chaff. + +DUKE + + And very good food too, + I give it to my horses. + +DUCHESS [_restraining herself_] + + They say the water, + Set in the public cisterns for their use, + [Has, through the breaking of the aqueduct,] + To stagnant pools and muddy puddles turned. + +DUKE + + They should drink wine; water is quite unwholesome. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Alack, your Grace, the taxes which the customs + Take at the city gate are grown so high + We cannot buy wine. + +DUKE + + Then you should bless the taxes + + Which make you temperate. + +DUCHESS + + Think, while we sit + In gorgeous pomp and state, gaunt poverty + Creeps through their sunless lanes, and with sharp knives + Cuts the warm throats of children stealthily + And no word said. + +THIRD CITIZEN + + Ay! marry, that is true, + My little son died yesternight from hunger; + He was but six years old; I am so poor, + I cannot bury him. + +DUKE + + If you are poor, + Are you not blessed in that? Why, poverty + Is one of the Christian virtues, + + [_Turns to the_ CARDINAL.] + + Is it not? + I know, Lord Cardinal, you have great revenues, + Rich abbey-lands, and tithes, and large estates + For preaching voluntary poverty. + +DUCHESS + + Nay but, my lord the Duke, be generous; + While we sit here within a noble house + [With shaded porticoes against the sun, + And walls and roofs to keep the winter out], + There are many citizens of Padua + Who in vile tenements live so full of holes, + That the chill rain, the snow, and the rude blast, + Are tenants also with them; others sleep + Under the arches of the public bridges + All through the autumn nights, till the wet mist + Stiffens their limbs, and fevers come, and so— + +DUKE + + And so they go to Abraham’s bosom, Madam. + They should thank me for sending them to Heaven, + If they are wretched here. [_To the_ CARDINAL.] + Is it not said + Somewhere in Holy Writ, that every man + Should be contented with that state of life + God calls him to? Why should I change their state, + Or meddle with an all-wise providence, + Which has apportioned that some men should starve, + And others surfeit? I did not make the world. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + He hath a hard heart. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Nay, be silent, neighbour; + I think the Cardinal will speak for us. + +CARDINAL + + True, it is Christian to bear misery, + Yet it is Christian also to be kind, + And there seem many evils in this town, + Which in your wisdom might your Grace reform. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + What is that word reform? What does it mean? + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Marry, it means leaving things as they are; I like it not. + +DUKE + + Reform Lord Cardinal, did _you_ say reform? + There is a man in Germany called Luther, + Who would reform the Holy Catholic Church. + Have you not made him heretic, and uttered + Anathema, maranatha, against him? + +CARDINAL [_rising from his seat_] + + He would have led the sheep out of the fold, + We do but ask of you to feed the sheep. + +DUKE + + When I have shorn their fleeces I may feed them. + As for these rebels— [DUCHESS _entreats him_.] + +FIRST CITIZEN + + That is a kind word, + He means to give us something. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Is that so? + +DUKE + + These ragged knaves who come before us here, + With mouths chock-full of treason. + +THIRD CITIZEN + + Good my Lord, + Fill up our mouths with bread; we’ll hold our tongues. + +DUKE + + Ye shall hold your tongues, whether you starve or not. + My lords, this age is so familiar grown, + That the low peasant hardly doffs his hat, + Unless you beat him; and the raw mechanic + Elbows the noble in the public streets. + + [_To the Citizens_.] + + Still as our gentle Duchess has so prayed us, + And to refuse so beautiful a beggar + Were to lack both courtesy and love, + Touching your grievances, I promise this— + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Marry, he will lighten the taxes! + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Or a dole of bread, think you, for each man? + +DUKE + + That, on next Sunday, the Lord Cardinal + Shall, after Holy Mass, preach you a sermon + Upon the Beauty of Obedience. + + [_Citizens murmur_.] + +FIRST CITIZEN + + I’ faith, that will not fill our stomachs! + +SECOND CITIZEN + + A sermon is but a sorry sauce, when + You have nothing to eat with it. + +DUCHESS + + Poor people, + You see I have no power with the Duke, + But if you go into the court without, + My almoner shall from my private purse, + Divide a hundred ducats ’mongst you all. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + God save the Duchess, say I. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + God save her. + +DUCHESS + + And every Monday morn shall bread be set + For those who lack it. + + [_Citizens applaud and go out_.] + +FIRST CITIZEN [_going out_] + + Why, God save the Duchess again! + +DUKE [_calling him back_] + + Come hither, fellow! what is your name? + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Dominick, sir. + +DUKE + + A good name! Why were you called Dominick? + +FIRST CITIZEN [_scratching his head_] + + Marry, because I was born on St. George’s day. + +DUKE + + A good reason! here is a ducat for you! + Will you not cry for me God save the Duke? + +FIRST CITIZEN [_feebly_] + + God save the Duke. + +DUKE + + Nay! louder, fellow, louder. + +FIRST CITIZEN [_a little louder_] + + God save the Duke! + +DUKE + + More lustily, fellow, put more heart in it! + Here is another ducat for you. + +FIRST CITIZEN [_enthusiastically_] + + God save the Duke! + +DUKE [_mockingly_] + + Why, gentlemen, this simple fellow’s love + Touches me much. [_To the Citizen_, _harshly_.] + Go! [_Exit Citizen_, _bowing_.] + This is the way, my lords, + You can buy popularity nowadays. + Oh, we are nothing if not democratic! + + [_To the_ DUCHESS.] + + Well, Madam, + You spread rebellion ’midst our citizens. + +DUCHESS + + My Lord, the poor have rights you cannot touch, + The right to pity, and the right to mercy. + +DUKE + + So, so, you argue with me? This is she, + The gentle Duchess for whose hand I yielded + Three of the fairest towns in Italy, + Pisa, and Genoa, and Orvieto. + +DUCHESS + + Promised, my Lord, not yielded: in that matter + Brake you your word as ever. + +DUKE + + You wrong us, Madam, + There were state reasons. + +DUCHESS + + What state reasons are there + For breaking holy promises to a state? + +DUKE + + There are wild boars at Pisa in a forest + Close to the city: when I promised Pisa + Unto your noble and most trusting father, + I had forgotten there was hunting there. + At Genoa they say, + Indeed I doubt them not, that the red mullet + Runs larger in the harbour of that town + Than anywhere in Italy. + + [_Turning to one of the Court_.] + + You, my lord, + Whose gluttonous appetite is your only god, + Could satisfy our Duchess on that point. + +DUCHESS + + And Orvieto? + +DUKE [_yawning_] + + I cannot now recall + Why I did not surrender Orvieto + According to the word of my contract. + Maybe it was because I did not choose. + + [_Goes over to the_ DUCHESS.] + + Why look you, Madam, you are here alone; + ’Tis many a dusty league to your grey France, + And even there your father barely keeps + A hundred ragged squires for his Court. + What hope have you, I say? Which of these lords + And noble gentlemen of Padua + Stands by your side. + +DUCHESS + + There is not one. + + [GUIDO _starts_, _but restrains himself_.] + +DUKE + + Nor shall be, + While I am Duke in Padua: listen, Madam, + Being mine own, you shall do as I will, + And if it be my will you keep the house, + Why then, this palace shall your prison be; + And if it be my will you walk abroad, + Why, you shall take the air from morn to night. + +DUCHESS + + Sir, by what right—? + +DUKE + + Madam, my second Duchess + Asked the same question once: her monument + Lies in the chapel of Bartholomew, + Wrought in red marble; very beautiful. + Guido, your arm. Come, gentlemen, let us go + And spur our falcons for the mid-day chase. + Bethink you, Madam, you are here alone. + + [_Exit the_ DUKE _leaning on_ GUIDO, _with his Court_.] + +DUCHESS [_looking after them_] + + The Duke said rightly that I was alone; + Deserted, and dishonoured, and defamed, + Stood ever woman so alone indeed? + Men when they woo us call us pretty children, + Tell us we have not wit to make our lives, + And so they mar them for us. Did I say woo? + We are their chattels, and their common slaves, + Less dear than the poor hound that licks their hand, + Less fondled than the hawk upon their wrist. + Woo, did I say? bought rather, sold and bartered, + Our very bodies being merchandise. + I know it is the general lot of women, + Each miserably mated to some man + Wrecks her own life upon his selfishness: + That it is general makes it not less bitter. + I think I never heard a woman laugh, + Laugh for pure merriment, except one woman, + That was at night time, in the public streets. + Poor soul, she walked with painted lips, and wore + The mask of pleasure: I would not laugh like her; + No, death were better. + +[_Enter_ GUIDO _behind unobserved_; _the_ DUCHESS _flings herself down +before a picture of the Madonna_.] + + O Mary mother, with your sweet pale face + Bending between the little angel heads + That hover round you, have you no help for me? + Mother of God, have you no help for me? + +GUIDO + + I can endure no longer. + This is my love, and I will speak to her. + Lady, am I a stranger to your prayers? + +DUCHESS [_rising_] + + None but the wretched needs my prayers, my lord. + +GUIDO + + Then must I need them, lady. + +DUCHESS + + How is that? + Does not the Duke show thee sufficient honour? + +GUIDO + + Your Grace, I lack no favours from the Duke, + Whom my soul loathes as I loathe wickedness, + But come to proffer on my bended knees, + My loyal service to thee unto death. + +DUCHESS + + Alas! I am so fallen in estate + I can but give thee a poor meed of thanks. + +GUIDO [_seizing her hand_] + + Hast thou no love to give me? + + [_The_ DUCHESS _starts_, _and_ GUIDO _falls at her feet_.] + + O dear saint, + If I have been too daring, pardon me! + Thy beauty sets my boyish blood aflame, + And, when my reverent lips touch thy white hand, + Each little nerve with such wild passion thrills + That there is nothing which I would not do + To gain thy love. [_Leaps up_.] + Bid me reach forth and pluck + Perilous honour from the lion’s jaws, + And I will wrestle with the Nemean beast + On the bare desert! Fling to the cave of War + A gaud, a ribbon, a dead flower, something + That once has touched thee, and I’ll bring it back + Though all the hosts of Christendom were there, + Inviolate again! ay, more than this, + Set me to scale the pallid white-faced cliffs + Of mighty England, and from that arrogant shield + Will I raze out the lilies of your France + Which England, that sea-lion of the sea, + Hath taken from her! + O dear Beatrice, + Drive me not from thy presence! without thee + The heavy minutes crawl with feet of lead, + But, while I look upon thy loveliness, + The hours fly like winged Mercuries + And leave existence golden. + +DUCHESS + + I did not think + I should be ever loved: do you indeed + Love me so much as now you say you do? + +GUIDO + + Ask of the sea-bird if it loves the sea, + Ask of the roses if they love the rain, + Ask of the little lark, that will not sing + Till day break, if it loves to see the day:— + And yet, these are but empty images, + Mere shadows of my love, which is a fire + So great that all the waters of the main + Can not avail to quench it. Will you not speak? + +DUCHESS + + I hardly know what I should say to you. + +GUIDO + + Will you not say you love me? + +DUCHESS + + Is that my lesson? + Must I say all at once? ’Twere a good lesson + If I did love you, sir; but, if I do not, + What shall I say then? + +GUIDO + + If you do not love me, + Say, none the less, you do, for on your tongue + Falsehood for very shame would turn to truth. + +DUCHESS + + What if I do not speak at all? They say + Lovers are happiest when they are in doubt + +GUIDO + + Nay, doubt would kill me, and if I must die, + Why, let me die for joy and not for doubt. + Oh, tell me may I stay, or must I go? + +DUCHESS + + I would not have you either stay or go; + For if you stay you steal my love from me, + And if you go you take my love away. + Guido, though all the morning stars could sing + They could not tell the measure of my love. + I love you, Guido. + +GUIDO [_stretching out his hands_] + + Oh, do not cease at all; + I thought the nightingale sang but at night; + Or if thou needst must cease, then let my lips + Touch the sweet lips that can such music make. + +DUCHESS + + To touch my lips is not to touch my heart. + +GUIDO + + Do you close that against me? + +DUCHESS + + Alas! my lord, + I have it not: the first day that I saw you + I let you take my heart away from me; + Unwilling thief, that without meaning it + Did break into my fenced treasury + And filch my jewel from it! O strange theft, + Which made you richer though you knew it not, + And left me poorer, and yet glad of it! + +GUIDO [_clasping her in his arms_] + + O love, love, love! Nay, sweet, lift up your head, + Let me unlock those little scarlet doors + That shut in music, let me dive for coral + In your red lips, and I’ll bear back a prize + Richer than all the gold the Gryphon guards + In rude Armenia. + +DUCHESS + + You are my lord, + And what I have is yours, and what I have not + Your fancy lends me, like a prodigal + Spending its wealth on what is nothing worth. + + [_Kisses him_.] + +GUIDO + + Methinks I am bold to look upon you thus: + The gentle violet hides beneath its leaf + And is afraid to look at the great sun + For fear of too much splendour, but my eyes, + O daring eyes! are grown so venturous + That like fixed stars they stand, gazing at you, + And surfeit sense with beauty. + +DUCHESS + + Dear love, I would + You could look upon me ever, for your eyes + Are polished mirrors, and when I peer + Into those mirrors I can see myself, + And so I know my image lives in you. + +GUIDO [_taking her in his arms_] + + Stand still, thou hurrying orb in the high heavens, + And make this hour immortal! [_A pause_.] + +DUCHESS + + Sit down here, + A little lower than me: yes, just so, sweet, + That I may run my fingers through your hair, + And see your face turn upwards like a flower + To meet my kiss. + Have you not sometimes noted, + When we unlock some long-disuséd room + With heavy dust and soiling mildew filled, + Where never foot of man has come for years, + And from the windows take the rusty bar, + And fling the broken shutters to the air, + And let the bright sun in, how the good sun + Turns every grimy particle of dust + Into a little thing of dancing gold? + Guido, my heart is that long-empty room, + But you have let love in, and with its gold + Gilded all life. Do you not think that love + Fills up the sum of life? + +GUIDO + + Ay! without love + Life is no better than the unhewn stone + Which in the quarry lies, before the sculptor + Has set the God within it. Without love + Life is as silent as the common reeds + That through the marshes or by rivers grow, + And have no music in them. + +DUCHESS + + Yet out of these + The singer, who is Love, will make a pipe + And from them he draws music; so I think + Love will bring music out of any life. + Is that not true? + +GUIDO + + Sweet, women make it true. + There are men who paint pictures, and carve statues, + Paul of Verona and the dyer’s son, + Or their great rival, who, by the sea at Venice, + Has set God’s little maid upon the stair, + White as her own white lily, and as tall, + Or Raphael, whose Madonnas are divine + Because they are mothers merely; yet I think + Women are the best artists of the world, + For they can take the common lives of men + Soiled with the money-getting of our age, + And with love make them beautiful. + +DUCHESS + + Ah, dear, + I wish that you and I were very poor; + The poor, who love each other, are so rich. + +GUIDO + + Tell me again you love me, Beatrice. + +DUCHESS [_fingering his collar_] + + How well this collar lies about your throat. + + [LORD MORANZONE _looks through the door from the corridor outside_.] + +GUIDO + + Nay, tell me that you love me. + +DUCHESS + + I remember, + That when I was a child in my dear France, + Being at Court at Fontainebleau, the King + Wore such a collar. + +GUIDO + + Will you not say you love me? + +DUCHESS [_smiling_] + + He was a very royal man, King Francis, + Yet he was not royal as you are. + Why need I tell you, Guido, that I love you? + + [_Takes his head in her hands and turns his face up to her_.] + + Do you not know that I am yours for ever, + Body and soul? + + [_Kisses him_, _and then suddenly catches sight of_ MORANZONE _and leaps + up_.] + + Oh, what is that? [MORANZONE _disappears_.] + +GUIDO + + What, love? + +DUCHESS + + Methought I saw a face with eyes of flame + Look at us through the doorway. + +GUIDO + + Nay, ’twas nothing: + The passing shadow of the man on guard. + + [_The_ DUCHESS _still stands looking at the window_.] + + ’Twas nothing, sweet. + +DUCHESS + + Ay! what can harm us now, + Who are in Love’s hand? I do not think I’d care + Though the vile world should with its lackey Slander + Trample and tread upon my life; why should I? + They say the common field-flowers of the field + Have sweeter scent when they are trodden on + Than when they bloom alone, and that some herbs + Which have no perfume, on being bruiséd die + With all Arabia round them; so it is + With the young lives this dull world seeks to crush, + It does but bring the sweetness out of them, + And makes them lovelier often. And besides, + While we have love we have the best of life: + Is it not so? + +GUIDO + + Dear, shall we play or sing? + I think that I could sing now. + +DUCHESS + + Do not speak, + For there are times when all existences + Seem narrowed to one single ecstasy, + And Passion sets a seal upon the lips. + +GUIDO + + Oh, with mine own lips let me break that seal! + You love me, Beatrice? + +DUCHESS + + Ay! is it not strange + I should so love mine enemy? + +GUIDO + + Who is he? + +DUCHESS + + Why, you: that with your shaft did pierce my heart! + Poor heart, that lived its little lonely life + Until it met your arrow. + +GUIDO + + Ah, dear love, + I am so wounded by that bolt myself + That with untended wounds I lie a-dying, + Unless you cure me, dear Physician. + +DUCHESS + + I would not have you cured; for I am sick + With the same malady. + +GUIDO + + Oh, how I love you! + See, I must steal the cuckoo’s voice, and tell + The one tale over. + +DUCHESS + + Tell no other tale! + For, if that is the little cuckoo’s song, + The nightingale is hoarse, and the loud lark + Has lost its music. + +GUIDO + + Kiss me, Beatrice! + +[_She takes his face in her hands and bends down and kisses him_; _a loud +knocking then comes at the door_, _and_ GUIDO _leaps up_; _enter a +Servant_.] + +SERVANT + + A package for you, sir. + +GUIDO [_carelessly_] + + Ah! give it to me. + + [_Servant hands package wrapped in vermilion silk_, _and exit_; _as_ + GUIDO _is about to open it the_ DUCHESS _comes up behind_, _and in + sport takes it from him_.] + +DUCHESS [_laughing_] + + Now I will wager it is from some girl + Who would have you wear her favour; I am so jealous + I will not give up the least part in you, + But like a miser keep you to myself, + And spoil you perhaps in keeping. + +GUIDO + + It is nothing. + +DUCHESS + + Nay, it is from some girl. + +GUIDO + + You know ’tis not. + +DUCHESS [_turns her back and opens it_] + + Now, traitor, tell me what does this sign mean, + A dagger with two leopards wrought in steel? + +GUIDO [_taking it from her_] + + O God! + +DUCHESS + + I’ll from the window look, and try + If I can’t see the porter’s livery + Who left it at the gate! I will not rest + Till I have learned your secret. + + [_Runs laughing into the corridor_.] + +GUIDO + + Oh, horrible! + Had I so soon forgot my father’s death, + Did I so soon let love into my heart, + And must I banish love, and let in murder + That beats and clamours at the outer gate? + Ay, that I must! Have I not sworn an oath? + Yet not to-night; nay, it must be to-night. + Farewell then all the joy and light of life, + All dear recorded memories, farewell, + Farewell all love! Could I with bloody hands + Fondle and paddle with her innocent hands? + Could I with lips fresh from this butchery + Play with her lips? Could I with murderous eyes + Look in those violet eyes, whose purity + Would strike men blind, and make each eyeball reel + In night perpetual? No, murder has set + A barrier between us far too high + For us to kiss across it. + +DUCHESS + + Guido! + +GUIDO + + Beatrice, + You must forget that name, and banish me + Out of your life for ever. + +DUCHESS [_going towards him_] + + O dear love! + +GUIDO [_stepping back_] + + There lies a barrier between us two + We dare not pass. + +DUCHESS + + I dare do anything + So that you are beside me. + +GUIDO + + Ah! There it is, + I cannot be beside you, cannot breathe + The air you breathe; I cannot any more + Stand face to face with beauty, which unnerves + My shaking heart, and makes my desperate hand + Fail of its purpose. Let me go hence, I pray; + Forget you ever looked upon me. + +DUCHESS + + What! + With your hot kisses fresh upon my lips + Forget the vows of love you made to me? + +GUIDO + + I take them back. + +DUCHESS + + Alas, you cannot, Guido, + For they are part of nature now; the air + Is tremulous with their music, and outside + The little birds sing sweeter for those vows. + +GUIDO + + There lies a barrier between us now, + Which then I knew not, or I had forgot. + +DUCHESS + + There is no barrier, Guido; why, I will go + In poor attire, and will follow you + Over the world. + +GUIDO [_wildly_] + + The world’s not wide enough + To hold us two! Farewell, farewell for ever. + +DUCHESS [_calm_, _and controlling her passion_] + + Why did you come into my life at all, then, + Or in the desolate garden of my heart + Sow that white flower of love—? + +GUIDO + + O Beatrice! + +DUCHESS + + Which now you would dig up, uproot, tear out, + Though each small fibre doth so hold my heart + That if you break one, my heart breaks with it? + Why did you come into my life? Why open + The secret wells of love I had sealed up? + Why did you open them—? + +GUIDO + + O God! + +DUCHESS [_clenching her hand_] + + And let + The floodgates of my passion swell and burst + Till, like the wave when rivers overflow + That sweeps the forest and the farm away, + Love in the splendid avalanche of its might + Swept my life with it? Must I drop by drop + Gather these waters back and seal them up? + Alas! Each drop will be a tear, and so + Will with its saltness make life very bitter. + +GUIDO + + I pray you speak no more, for I must go + Forth from your life and love, and make a way + On which you cannot follow. + +DUCHESS + + I have heard + That sailors dying of thirst upon a raft, + Poor castaways upon a lonely sea, + Dream of green fields and pleasant water-courses, + And then wake up with red thirst in their throats, + And die more miserably because sleep + Has cheated them: so they die cursing sleep + For having sent them dreams: I will not curse you + Though I am cast away upon the sea + Which men call Desolation. + +GUIDO + + O God, God! + +DUCHESS + + But you will stay: listen, I love you, Guido. + + [_She waits a little_.] + + Is echo dead, that when I say I love you + There is no answer? + +GUIDO + + Everything is dead, + Save one thing only, which shall die to-night! + +DUCHESS + + If you are going, touch me not, but go. + + [_Exit_ GUIDO.] + + Barrier! Barrier! + Why did he say there was a barrier? + There is no barrier between us two. + He lied to me, and shall I for that reason + Loathe what I love, and what I worshipped, hate? + I think we women do not love like that. + For if I cut his image from my heart, + My heart would, like a bleeding pilgrim, follow + That image through the world, and call it back + With little cries of love. + + [_Enter_ DUKE _equipped for the chase_, _with falconers and hounds_.] + +DUKE + + Madam, you keep us waiting; + You keep my dogs waiting. + +DUCHESS + + I will not ride to-day. + +DUKE + + How now, what’s this? + +DUCHESS + + My Lord, I cannot go. + +DUKE + + What, pale face, do you dare to stand against me? + Why, I could set you on a sorry jade + And lead you through the town, till the low rabble + You feed toss up their hats and mock at you. + +DUCHESS + + Have you no word of kindness ever for me? + +DUKE + + I hold you in the hollow of my hand + And have no need on you to waste kind words. + +DUCHESS + + Well, I will go. + +DUKE [_slapping his boot with his whip_] + + No, I have changed my mind, + You will stay here, and like a faithful wife + Watch from the window for our coming back. + Were it not dreadful if some accident + By chance should happen to your loving Lord? + Come, gentlemen, my hounds begin to chafe, + And I chafe too, having a patient wife. + Where is young Guido? + +MAFFIO + + My liege, I have not seen him + For a full hour past. + +DUKE + + It matters not, + I dare say I shall see him soon enough. + Well, Madam, you will sit at home and spin. + I do protest, sirs, the domestic virtues + Are often very beautiful in others. + + [_Exit_ DUKE _with his Court_.] + +DUCHESS + + The stars have fought against me, that is all, + And thus to-night when my Lord lieth asleep, + Will I fall upon my dagger, and so cease. + My heart is such a stone nothing can reach it + Except the dagger’s edge: let it go there, + To find what name it carries: ay! to-night + Death will divorce the Duke; and yet to-night + He may die also, he is very old. + Why should he not die? Yesterday his hand + Shook with a palsy: men have died from palsy, + And why not he? Are there not fevers also, + Agues and chills, and other maladies + Most incident to old age? + No, no, he will not die, he is too sinful; + Honest men die before their proper time. + Good men will die: men by whose side the Duke + In all the sick pollution of his life + Seems like a leper: women and children die, + But the Duke will not die, he is too sinful. + Oh, can it be + There is some immortality in sin, + Which virtue has not? And does the wicked man + Draw life from what to other men were death, + Like poisonous plants that on corruption live? + No, no, I think God would not suffer that: + Yet the Duke will not die: he is too sinful. + But I will die alone, and on this night + Grim Death shall be my bridegroom, and the tomb + My secret house of pleasure: well, what of that? + The world’s a graveyard, and we each, like coffins, + Within us bear a skeleton. + +[_Enter_ LORD MORANZONE _all in black_; _he passes across the back of the + stage looking anxiously about_.] + +MORANZONE + + Where is Guido? + I cannot find him anywhere. + +DUCHESS [_catches sight of him_] + + O God! + ’Twas thou who took my love away from me. + +MORANZONE [_with a look of joy_] + + What, has he left you? + +DUCHESS + + Nay, you know he has. + Oh, give him back to me, give him back, I say, + Or I will tear your body limb from limb, + And to the common gibbet nail your head + Until the carrion crows have stripped it bare. + Better you had crossed a hungry lioness + Before you came between me and my love. + + [_With more pathos_.] + + Nay, give him back, you know not how I love him. + Here by this chair he knelt a half hour since; + ’Twas there he stood, and there he looked at me; + This is the hand he kissed, and these the ears + Into whose open portals he did pour + A tale of love so musical that all + The birds stopped singing! Oh, give him back to me. + +MORANZONE + + He does not love you, Madam. + +DUCHESS + + May the plague + Wither the tongue that says so! Give him back. + +MORANZONE + + Madam, I tell you you will never see him, + Neither to-night, nor any other night. + +DUCHESS + + What is your name? + +MORANZONE + + My name? Revenge! + + [_Exit_.] + +DUCHESS + + Revenge! + I think I never harmed a little child. + What should Revenge do coming to my door? + It matters not, for Death is there already, + Waiting with his dim torch to light my way. + ’Tis true men hate thee, Death, and yet I think + Thou wilt be kinder to me than my lover, + And so dispatch the messengers at once, + Harry the lazy steeds of lingering day, + And let the night, thy sister, come instead, + And drape the world in mourning; let the owl, + Who is thy minister, scream from his tower + And wake the toad with hooting, and the bat, + That is the slave of dim Persephone, + Wheel through the sombre air on wandering wing! + Tear up the shrieking mandrakes from the earth + And bid them make us music, and tell the mole + To dig deep down thy cold and narrow bed, + For I shall lie within thine arms to-night. + + END OF ACT II. + + * * * * * + + + + +ACT III + + + SCENE + +_A large corridor in the Ducal Palace_: _a window_ (_L.C._) _looks out on +a view of Padua by moonlight_: _a staircase_ (_R.C._) _leads up to a door +with a portière of crimson velvet_, _with the Duke’s arms embroidered in +gold on it_: _on the lowest step of the staircase a figure draped in +black is sitting_: _the hall is lit by an iron cresset filled with +burning tow_: _thunder and lightning outside_: _the time is night_. + + [_Enter_ GUIDO _through the window_.] + +GUIDO + + The wind is rising: how my ladder shook! + I thought that every gust would break the cords! + + [_Looks out at the city_.] + + Christ! What a night: + Great thunder in the heavens, and wild lightnings + Striking from pinnacle to pinnacle + Across the city, till the dim houses seem + To shudder and to shake as each new glare + Dashes adown the street. + + [_Passes across the stage to foot of staircase_.] + + Ah! who art thou + That sittest on the stair, like unto Death + Waiting a guilty soul? [_A pause_.] + Canst thou not speak? + Or has this storm laid palsy on thy tongue, + And chilled thy utterance? + + [_The figure rises and takes off his mask_.] + +MORANZONE + + Guido Ferranti, + Thy murdered father laughs for joy to-night. + +GUIDO [_confusedly_] + + What, art thou here? + +MORANZONE + + Ay, waiting for your coming. + +GUIDO [_looking away from him_] + + I did not think to see you, but am glad, + That you may know the thing I mean to do. + +MORANZONE + + First, I would have you know my well-laid plans; + Listen: I have set horses at the gate + Which leads to Parma: when you have done your business + We will ride hence, and by to-morrow night— + +GUIDO + + It cannot be. + +MORANZONE + + Nay, but it shall. + +GUIDO + + Listen, Lord Moranzone, + I am resolved not to kill this man. + +MORANZONE + + Surely my ears are traitors, speak again: + It cannot be but age has dulled my powers, + I am an old man now: what did you say? + You said that with that dagger in your belt + You would avenge your father’s bloody murder; + Did you not say that? + +GUIDO + + No, my lord, I said + I was resolved not to kill the Duke. + +MORANZONE + + You said not that; it is my senses mock me; + Or else this midnight air o’ercharged with storm + Alters your message in the giving it. + +GUIDO + + Nay, you heard rightly; I’ll not kill this man. + +MORANZONE + + What of thine oath, thou traitor, what of thine oath? + +GUIDO + + I am resolved not to keep that oath. + +MORANZONE + + What of thy murdered father? + +GUIDO + + Dost thou think + My father would be glad to see me coming, + This old man’s blood still hot upon mine hands? + +MORANZONE + + Ay! he would laugh for joy. + +GUIDO + + I do not think so, + There is better knowledge in the other world; + Vengeance is God’s, let God himself revenge. + +MORANZONE + + Thou art God’s minister of vengeance. + +GUIDO + + No! + God hath no minister but his own hand. + I will not kill this man. + +MORANZONE + + Why are you here, + If not to kill him, then? + +GUIDO + + Lord Moranzone, + I purpose to ascend to the Duke’s chamber, + And as he lies asleep lay on his breast + The dagger and this writing; when he awakes + Then he will know who held him in his power + And slew him not: this is the noblest vengeance + Which I can take. + +MORANZONE + + You will not slay him? + +GUIDO + + No. + +MORANZONE + + Ignoble son of a noble father, + Who sufferest this man who sold that father + To live an hour. + +GUIDO + + ’Twas thou that hindered me; + I would have killed him in the open square, + The day I saw him first. + +MORANZONE + + It was not yet time; + Now it is time, and, like some green-faced girl, + Thou pratest of forgiveness. + +GUIDO + + No! revenge: + The right revenge my father’s son should take. + +MORANZONE + + You are a coward, + Take out the knife, get to the Duke’s chamber, + And bring me back his heart upon the blade. + When he is dead, then you can talk to me + Of noble vengeances. + +GUIDO + + Upon thine honour, + And by the love thou bearest my father’s name, + Dost thou think my father, that great gentleman, + That generous soldier, that most chivalrous lord, + Would have crept at night-time, like a common thief, + And stabbed an old man sleeping in his bed, + However he had wronged him: tell me that. + +MORANZONE + +[after some hesitation] + + You have sworn an oath, see that you keep that oath. + Boy, do you think I do not know your secret, + Your traffic with the Duchess? + +GUIDO + + Silence, liar! + The very moon in heaven is not more chaste. + Nor the white stars so pure. + +MORANZONE + + And yet, you love her; + Weak fool, to let love in upon your life, + Save as a plaything. + +GUIDO + + You do well to talk: + Within your veins, old man, the pulse of youth + Throbs with no ardour. Your eyes full of rheum + Have against Beauty closed their filmy doors, + And your clogged ears, losing their natural sense, + Have shut you from the music of the world. + You talk of love! You know not what it is. + +MORANZONE + + Oh, in my time, boy, have I walked i’ the moon, + Swore I would live on kisses and on blisses, + Swore I would die for love, and did not die, + Wrote love bad verses; ay, and sung them badly, + Like all true lovers: Oh, I have done the tricks! + I know the partings and the chamberings; + We are all animals at best, and love + Is merely passion with a holy name. + +GUIDO + + Now then I know you have not loved at all. + Love is the sacrament of life; it sets + Virtue where virtue was not; cleanses men + Of all the vile pollutions of this world; + It is the fire which purges gold from dross, + It is the fan which winnows wheat from chaff, + It is the spring which in some wintry soil + Makes innocence to blossom like a rose. + The days are over when God walked with men, + But Love, which is his image, holds his place. + When a man loves a woman, then he knows + God’s secret, and the secret of the world. + There is no house so lowly or so mean, + Which, if their hearts be pure who live in it, + Love will not enter; but if bloody murder + Knock at the Palace gate and is let in, + Love like a wounded thing creeps out and dies. + This is the punishment God sets on sin. + The wicked cannot love. + + [_A groan comes from the_ DUKE’S _chamber_.] + + Ah! What is that? + Do you not hear? ’Twas nothing. + So I think + That it is woman’s mission by their love + To save the souls of men: and loving her, + My Lady, my white Beatrice, I begin + To see a nobler and a holier vengeance + In letting this man live, than doth reside + In bloody deeds o’ night, stabs in the dark, + And young hands clutching at a palsied throat. + It was, I think, for love’s sake that Lord Christ, + Who was indeed himself incarnate Love, + Bade every man forgive his enemy. + +MORANZONE [_sneeringly_] + + That was in Palestine, not Padua; + And said for saints: I have to do with men. + +GUIDO + + It was for all time said. + +MORANZONE + + And your white Duchess, + What will she do to thank you? + +GUIDO + + Alas, I will not see her face again. + ’Tis but twelve hours since I parted from her, + So suddenly, and with such violent passion, + That she has shut her heart against me now: + No, I will never see her. + +MORANZONE + + What will you do? + +GUIDO + + After that I have laid the dagger there, + Get hence to-night from Padua. + +MORANZONE + + And then? + +GUIDO + + I will take service with the Doge at Venice, + And bid him pack me straightway to the wars, + And there I will, being now sick of life, + Throw that poor life against some desperate spear. + + [_A groan from the_ DUKE’S _chamber again_.] + + Did you not hear a voice? + +MORANZONE + + I always hear, + From the dim confines of some sepulchre, + A voice that cries for vengeance. We waste time, + It will be morning soon; are you resolved + You will not kill the Duke? + +GUIDO + + I am resolved. + +MORANZONE + + O wretched father, lying unavenged. + +GUIDO + + More wretched, were thy son a murderer. + +MORANZONE + + Why, what is life? + +GUIDO + + I do not know, my lord, + I did not give it, and I dare not take it. + +MORANZONE + + I do not thank God often; but I think + I thank him now that I have got no son! + And you, what bastard blood flows in your veins + That when you have your enemy in your grasp + You let him go! I would that I had left you + With the dull hinds that reared you. + +GUIDO + + Better perhaps + That you had done so! May be better still + I’d not been born to this distressful world. + +MORANZONE + + Farewell! + +GUIDO + + Farewell! Some day, Lord Moranzone, + You will understand my vengeance. + +MORANZONE + + Never, boy. + + [_Gets out of window and exit by rope ladder_.] + +GUIDO + + Father, I think thou knowest my resolve, + And with this nobler vengeance art content. + Father, I think in letting this man live + That I am doing what thou wouldst have done. + Father, I know not if a human voice + Can pierce the iron gateway of the dead, + Or if the dead are set in ignorance + Of what we do, or do not, for their sakes. + And yet I feel a presence in the air, + There is a shadow standing at my side, + And ghostly kisses seem to touch my lips, + And leave them holier. [_Kneels down_.] + O father, if ’tis thou, + Canst thou not burst through the decrees of death, + And if corporeal semblance show thyself, + That I may touch thy hand! + No, there is nothing. [_Rises_.] + ’Tis the night that cheats us with its phantoms, + And, like a puppet-master, makes us think + That things are real which are not. It grows late. + Now must I to my business. + + [_Pulls out a letter from his doublet and reads it_.] + + When he wakes, + And sees this letter, and the dagger with it, + Will he not have some loathing for his life, + Repent, perchance, and lead a better life, + Or will he mock because a young man spared + His natural enemy? I do not care. + Father, it is thy bidding that I do, + Thy bidding, and the bidding of my love + Which teaches me to know thee as thou art. + +[_Ascends staircase stealthily_, _and just as he reaches out his hand to +draw back the curtain the Duchess appears all in white_. GUIDO _starts +back_.] + +DUCHESS + + Guido! what do you here so late? + +GUIDO + + O white and spotless angel of my life, + Sure thou hast come from Heaven with a message + That mercy is more noble than revenge? + +DUCHESS + + There is no barrier between us now. + +GUIDO + + None, love, nor shall be. + +DUCHESS + + I have seen to that. + +GUIDO + + Tarry here for me. + +DUCHESS + + No, you are not going? + You will not leave me as you did before? + +GUIDO + + I will return within a moment’s space, + But first I must repair to the Duke’s chamber, + And leave this letter and this dagger there, + That when he wakes— + +DUCHESS + + When who wakes? + +GUIDO + + Why, the Duke. + +DUCHESS + + He will not wake again. + +GUIDO + + What, is he dead? + +DUCHESS + + Ay! he is dead. + +GUIDO + + O God! how wonderful + Are all thy secret ways! Who would have said + That on this very night, when I had yielded + Into thy hands the vengeance that is thine, + Thou with thy finger wouldst have touched the man, + And bade him come before thy judgment seat. + +DUCHESS + + I have just killed him. + +GUIDO [_in horror_] + + Oh! + +DUCHESS + + He was asleep; + Come closer, love, and I will tell you all. + I had resolved to kill myself to-night. + About an hour ago I waked from sleep, + And took my dagger from beneath my pillow, + Where I had hidden it to serve my need, + And drew it from the sheath, and felt the edge, + And thought of you, and how I loved you, Guido, + And turned to fall upon it, when I marked + The old man sleeping, full of years and sin; + There lay he muttering curses in his sleep, + And as I looked upon his evil face + Suddenly like a flame there flashed across me, + There is the barrier which Guido spoke of: + You said there lay a barrier between us, + What barrier but he?— + I hardly know + What happened, but a steaming mist of blood + Rose up between us two. + +GUIDO + + Oh, horrible! + +DUCHESS + + And then he groaned, + And then he groaned no more! I only heard + The dripping of the blood upon the floor. + +GUIDO + + Enough, enough. + +DUCHESS + + Will you not kiss me now? + Do you remember saying that women’s love + Turns men to angels? well, the love of man + Turns women into martyrs; for its sake + We do or suffer anything. + +GUIDO + + O God! + +DUCHESS + + Will you not speak? + +GUIDO + + I cannot speak at all. + +DUCHESS + + Let as not talk of this! Let us go hence: + Is not the barrier broken down between us? + What would you more? Come, it is almost morning. + + [_Puts her hand on_ GUIDO’S.] + +GUIDO [_breaking from her_] + + O damned saint! O angel fresh from Hell! + What bloody devil tempted thee to this! + That thou hast killed thy husband, that is nothing— + Hell was already gaping for his soul— + But thou hast murdered Love, and in its place + Hast set a horrible and bloodstained thing, + Whose very breath breeds pestilence and plague, + And strangles Love. + +DUCHESS [_in amazed wonder_] + + I did it all for you. + I would not have you do it, had you willed it, + For I would keep you without blot or stain, + A thing unblemished, unassailed, untarnished. + Men do not know what women do for love. + Have I not wrecked my soul for your dear sake, + Here and hereafter? + +GUIDO + + No, do not touch me, + Between us lies a thin red stream of blood; + I dare not look across it: when you stabbed him + You stabbed Love with a sharp knife to the heart. + We cannot meet again. + +DUCHESS [_wringing her hands_] + + For you! For you! + I did it all for you: have you forgotten? + You said there was a barrier between us; + That barrier lies now i’ the upper chamber + Upset, overthrown, beaten, and battered down, + And will not part us ever. + +GUIDO + + No, you mistook: + Sin was the barrier, you have raised it up; + Crime was the barrier, you have set it there. + The barrier was murder, and your hand + Has builded it so high it shuts out heaven, + It shuts out God. + +DUCHESS + + I did it all for you; + You dare not leave me now: nay, Guido, listen. + Get horses ready, we will fly to-night. + The past is a bad dream, we will forget it: + Before us lies the future: shall we not have + Sweet days of love beneath our vines and laugh?— + No, no, we will not laugh, but, when we weep, + Well, we will weep together; I will serve you; + I will be very meek and very gentle: + You do not know me. + +GUIDO + + Nay, I know you now; + Get hence, I say, out of my sight. + +DUCHESS [_pacing up and down_] + + O God, + How I have loved this man! + +GUIDO + + You never loved me. + Had it been so, Love would have stayed your hand. + How could we sit together at Love’s table? + You have poured poison in the sacred wine, + And Murder dips his fingers in the sop. + +DUCHESS [_throws herself on her knees_] + + Then slay me now! I have spilt blood to-night, + You shall spill more, so we go hand in hand + To heaven or to hell. Draw your sword, Guido. + Quick, let your soul go chambering in my heart, + It will but find its master’s image there. + Nay, if you will not slay me with your sword, + Bid me to fall upon this reeking knife, + And I will do it. + +GUIDO [_wresting knife from her_] + + Give it to me, I say. + O God, your very hands are wet with blood! + This place is Hell, I cannot tarry here. + I pray you let me see your face no more. + +DUCHESS + + Better for me I had not seen your face. + + [GUIDO _recoils_: _she seizes his hands as she kneels_.] + + Nay, Guido, listen for a while: + Until you came to Padua I lived + Wretched indeed, but with no murderous thought, + Very submissive to a cruel Lord, + Very obedient to unjust commands, + As pure I think as any gentle girl + Who now would turn in horror from my hands— + + [_Stands up_.] + + You came: ah! Guido, the first kindly words + I ever heard since I had come from France + Were from your lips: well, well, that is no matter. + You came, and in the passion of your eyes + I read love’s meaning; everything you said + Touched my dumb soul to music, so I loved you. + And yet I did not tell you of my love. + ’Twas you who sought me out, knelt at my feet + As I kneel now at yours, and with sweet vows, + + [_Kneels_.] + + Whose music seems to linger in my ears, + Swore that you loved me, and I trusted you. + I think there are many women in the world + Who would have tempted you to kill the man. + I did not. + Yet I know that had I done so, + I had not been thus humbled in the dust, + + [_Stands up_.] + + But you had loved me very faithfully. + + [_After a pause approaches him timidly_.] + + I do not think you understand me, Guido: + It was for your sake that I wrought this deed + Whose horror now chills my young blood to ice, + For your sake only. [_Stretching out her arm_.] + Will you not speak to me? + Love me a little: in my girlish life + I have been starved for love, and kindliness + Has passed me by. + +GUIDO + + I dare not look at you: + You come to me with too pronounced a favour; + Get to your tirewomen. + +DUCHESS + + Ay, there it is! + There speaks the man! yet had you come to me + With any heavy sin upon your soul, + Some murder done for hire, not for love, + Why, I had sat and watched at your bedside + All through the night-time, lest Remorse might come + And pour his poisons in your ear, and so + Keep you from sleeping! Sure it is the guilty, + Who, being very wretched, need love most. + +GUIDO + + There is no love where there is any guilt. + +DUCHESS + + No love where there is any guilt! O God, + How differently do we love from men! + There is many a woman here in Padua, + Some workman’s wife, or ruder artisan’s, + Whose husband spends the wages of the week + In a coarse revel, or a tavern brawl, + And reeling home late on the Saturday night, + Finds his wife sitting by a fireless hearth, + Trying to hush the child who cries for hunger, + And then sets to and beats his wife because + The child is hungry, and the fire black. + Yet the wife loves him! and will rise next day + With some red bruise across a careworn face, + And sweep the house, and do the common service, + And try and smile, and only be too glad + If he does not beat her a second time + Before her child!—that is how women love. + + [_A pause_: GUIDO _says nothing_.] + + I think you will not drive me from your side. + Where have I got to go if you reject me?— + You for whose sake this hand has murdered life, + You for whose sake my soul has wrecked itself + Beyond all hope of pardon. + +GUIDO + + Get thee gone: + The dead man is a ghost, and our love too, + Flits like a ghost about its desolate tomb, + And wanders through this charnel house, and weeps + That when you slew your lord you slew it also. + Do you not see? + +DUCHESS + + I see when men love women + They give them but a little of their lives, + But women when they love give everything; + I see that, Guido, now. + +GUIDO + + Away, away, + And come not back till you have waked your dead. + +DUCHESS + + I would to God that I could wake the dead, + Put vision in the glazéd eves, and give + The tongue its natural utterance, and bid + The heart to beat again: that cannot be: + For what is done, is done: and what is dead + Is dead for ever: the fire cannot warm him: + The winter cannot hurt him with its snows; + Something has gone from him; if you call him now, + He will not answer; if you mock him now, + He will not laugh; and if you stab him now + He will not bleed. + I would that I could wake him! + O God, put back the sun a little space, + And from the roll of time blot out to-night, + And bid it not have been! Put back the sun, + And make me what I was an hour ago! + No, no, time will not stop for anything, + Nor the sun stay its courses, though Repentance + Calling it back grow hoarse; but you, my love, + Have you no word of pity even for me? + O Guido, Guido, will you not kiss me once? + Drive me not to some desperate resolve: + Women grow mad when they are treated thus: + Will you not kiss me once? + +GUIDO [_holding up knife_] + + I will not kiss you + Until the blood grows dry upon this knife, + [_Wildly_] Back to your dead! + +DUCHESS [_going up the stairs_] + + Why, then I will be gone! and may you find + More mercy than you showed to me to-night! + +GUIDO + + Let me find mercy when I go at night + And do foul murder. + +DUCHESS [_coming down a few steps_.] + + Murder did you say? + Murder is hungry, and still cries for more, + And Death, his brother, is not satisfied, + But walks the house, and will not go away, + Unless he has a comrade! Tarry, Death, + For I will give thee a most faithful lackey + To travel with thee! Murder, call no more, + For thou shalt eat thy fill. + There is a storm + Will break upon this house before the morning, + So horrible, that the white moon already + Turns grey and sick with terror, the low wind + Goes moaning round the house, and the high stars + Run madly through the vaulted firmament, + As though the night wept tears of liquid fire + For what the day shall look upon. Oh, weep, + Thou lamentable heaven! Weep thy fill! + Though sorrow like a cataract drench the fields, + And make the earth one bitter lake of tears, + It would not be enough. [_A peal of thunder_.] + Do you not hear, + There is artillery in the Heaven to-night. + Vengeance is wakened up, and has unloosed + His dogs upon the world, and in this matter + Which lies between us two, let him who draws + The thunder on his head beware the ruin + Which the forked flame brings after. + + [_A flash of lightning followed by a peal of thunder_.] + +GUIDO + + Away! away! + +[_Exit the_ DUCHESS, _who as she lifts the crimson curtain looks back for +a moment at_ GUIDO, _but he makes no sign_. _More thunder_.] + + Now is life fallen in ashes at my feet + And noble love self-slain; and in its place + Crept murder with its silent bloody feet. + And she who wrought it—Oh! and yet she loved me, + And for my sake did do this dreadful thing. + I have been cruel to her: Beatrice! + Beatrice, I say, come back. + + [_Begins to ascend staircase_, _when the noise of Soldiers is heard_.] + + Ah! what is that? + Torches ablaze, and noise of hurrying feet. + Pray God they have not seized her. + + [_Noise grows louder_.] + + Beatrice! + There is yet time to escape. Come down, come out! + + [_The voice of the_ DUCHESS _outside_.] + + This way went he, the man who slew my lord. + +[_Down the staircase comes hurrying a confused body of Soldiers_; GUIDO +_is not seen at first_, _till the_ DUCHESS _surrounded by Servants +carrying torches appears at the top of the staircase_, _and points to_ +GUIDO, _who is seized at once_, _one of the Soldiers dragging the knife +from his hand and showing it to the Captain of the Guard in sight of the +audience_. _Tableau_.] + + END OF ACT III. + + * * * * * + + + + +ACT IV + + + SCENE + +_The Court of Justice_: _the walls are hung with stamped grey velvet_: +_above the hangings the wall is red_, _and gilt symbolical figures bear +up the roof_, _which is made of red beams with grey soffits and +moulding_: _a canopy of white satin flowered with gold is set for the +Duchess_: _below it a long bench with red cloth for the Judges_: _below +that a table for the clerks of the court. Two soldiers stand on each +side of the canopy_, _and two soldiers guard the door_; _the citizens +have some of them collected in the Court_; _others are coming in greeting +one another_; _two tipstaffs in violet keep order with long white wands_. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Good morrow, neighbour Anthony. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Good morrow, neighbour Dominick. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + This is a strange day for Padua, is it not?—the Duke being dead. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + I tell you, neighbour Dominick, I have not known such a day since the + last Duke died. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + They will try him first, and sentence him afterwards, will they not, + neighbour Anthony? + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Nay, for he might ’scape his punishment then; but they will condemn + him first so that he gets his deserts, and give him trial afterwards + so that no injustice is done. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Well, well, it will go hard with him I doubt not. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Surely it is a grievous thing to shed a Duke’s blood. + +THIRD CITIZEN + + They say a Duke has blue blood. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + I think our Duke’s blood was black like his soul. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Have a watch, neighbour Anthony, the officer is looking at thee. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + I care not if he does but look at me; he cannot whip me with the + lashes of his eye. + +THIRD CITIZEN + + What think you of this young man who stuck the knife into the Duke? + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Why, that he is a well-behaved, and a well-meaning, and a + well-favoured lad, and yet wicked in that he killed the Duke. + +THIRD CITIZEN + + ’Twas the first time he did it: may be the law will not be hard on + him, as he did not do it before. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + True. + +TIPSTAFF + + Silence, knave. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Am I thy looking-glass, Master Tipstaff, that thou callest me knave? + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Here be one of the household coming. Well, Dame Lucy, thou art of the + Court, how does thy poor mistress the Duchess, with her sweet face? + +MISTRESS LUCY + + O well-a-day! O miserable day! O day! O misery! Why it is just + nineteen years last June, at Michaelmas, since I was married to my + husband, and it is August now, and here is the Duke murdered; there is + a coincidence for you! + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Why, if it is a coincidence, they may not kill the young man: there is + no law against coincidences. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + But how does the Duchess? + +MISTRESS LUCY + + Well well, I knew some harm would happen to the house: six weeks ago + the cakes were all burned on one side, and last Saint Martin even as + ever was, there flew into the candle a big moth that had wings, and + a’most scared me. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + But come to the Duchess, good gossip: what of her? + +MISTRESS LUCY + + Marry, it is time you should ask after her, poor lady; she is + distraught almost. Why, she has not slept, but paced the chamber all + night long. I prayed her to have a posset, or some aqua-vitæ, and to + get to bed and sleep a little for her health’s sake, but she answered + me she was afraid she might dream. That was a strange answer, was it + not? + +SECOND CITIZEN + + These great folk have not much sense, so Providence makes it up to + them in fine clothes. + +MISTRESS LUCY + + Well, well, God keep murder from us, I say, as long as we are alive. + + [_Enter_ LORD MORANZONE _hurriedly_.] + +MORANZONE + + Is the Duke dead? + +SECOND CITIZEN + + He has a knife in his heart, which they say is not healthy for any + man. + +MORANZONE + + Who is accused of having killed him? + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Why, the prisoner, sir. + +MORANZONE + + But who is the prisoner? + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Why, he that is accused of the Duke’s murder. + +MORANZONE + + I mean, what is his name? + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Faith, the same which his godfathers gave him: what else should it be? + +TIPSTAFF + + Guido Ferranti is his name, my lord. + +MORANZONE + + I almost knew thine answer ere you gave it. + + [_Aside_.] + + Yet it is strange he should have killed the Duke, + Seeing he left me in such different mood. + It is most likely when he saw the man, + This devil who had sold his father’s life, + That passion from their seat within his heart + Thrust all his boyish theories of love, + And in their place set vengeance; yet I marvel + That he escaped not. + + [_Turning again to the crowd_.] + + How was he taken? Tell me. + +THIRD CITIZEN + + Marry, sir, he was taken by the heels. + +MORANZONE + + But who seized him? + +THIRD CITIZEN + + Why, those that did lay hold of him. + +MORANZONE + + How was the alarm given? + +THIRD CITIZEN + + That I cannot tell you, sir. + +MISTRESS LUCY + + It was the Duchess herself who pointed him out. + +MORANZONE [_aside_] + + The Duchess! There is something strange in this. + +MISTRESS LUCY + + Ay! And the dagger was in his hand—the Duchess’s own dagger. + +MORANZONE + + What did you say? + +MISTRESS LUCY + + Why, marry, that it was with the Duchess’s dagger that the Duke was + killed. + +MORANZONE [_aside_] + + There is some mystery about this: I cannot understand it. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + They be very long a-coming, + +FIRST CITIZEN + + I warrant they will come soon enough for the prisoner. + +TIPSTAFF + + Silence in the Court! + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Thou dost break silence in bidding us keep it, Master Tipstaff. + + [_Enter the_ LORD JUSTICE _and the other Judges_.] + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Who is he in scarlet? Is he the headsman? + +THIRD CITIZEN + + Nay, he is the Lord Justice. + + [_Enter_ GUIDO _guarded_.] + +SECOND CITIZEN + + There be the prisoner surely. + +THIRD CITIZEN + + He looks honest. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + That be his villany: knaves nowadays do look so honest that honest + folk are forced to look like knaves so as to be different. + + [_Enter the Headman_, _who takes his stand behind_ GUIDO.] + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Yon be the headsman then! O Lord! Is the axe sharp, think you? + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Ay! sharper than thy wits are; but the edge is not towards him, mark + you. + +SECOND CITIZEN [_scratching his neck_] + + I’ faith, I like it not so near. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Tut, thou need’st not be afraid; they never cut the heads of common + folk: they do but hang us. + + [_Trumpets outside_.] + +THIRD CITIZEN + + What are the trumpets for? Is the trial over? + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Nay, ’tis for the Duchess. + +[_Enter the_ DUCHESS _in black velvet_; _her train of flowered black +velvet is carried by two pages in violet_; _with her is the_ CARDINAL _in +scarlet_, _and the gentlemen of the Court in black_; _she takes her seat +on the throne above the Judges_, _who rise and take their caps off as she +enters_; _the_ CARDINAL _sits next to her a little lower_; _the Courtiers +group themselves about the throne_.] + +SECOND CITIZEN + + O poor lady, how pale she is! Will she sit there? + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Ay! she is in the Duke’s place now. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + That is a good thing for Padua; the Duchess is a very kind and + merciful Duchess; why, she cured my child of the ague once. + +THIRD CITIZEN + + Ay, and has given us bread: do not forget the bread. + +A SOLDIER + + Stand back, good people. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + If we be good, why should we stand back? + +TIPSTAFF + + Silence in the Court! + +LORD JUSTICE + + May it please your Grace, + Is it your pleasure we proceed to trial + Of the Duke’s murder? [DUCHESS _bows_.] + Set the prisoner forth. + What is thy name? + +GUIDO + + It matters not, my lord. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Guido Ferranti is thy name in Padua. + +GUIDO + + A man may die as well under that name as any other. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Thou art not ignorant + What dreadful charge men lay against thee here, + Namely, the treacherous murder of thy Lord, + Simone Gesso, Duke of Padua; + What dost thou say in answer? + +GUIDO + + I say nothing. + +LORD JUSTICE [_rising_] + + Guido Ferranti— + +MORANZONE [_stepping from the crowd_] + + Tarry, my Lord Justice. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Who art thou that bid’st justice tarry, sir? + +MORANZONE + + So be it justice it can go its way; + But if it be not justice— + +LORD JUSTICE + + Who is this? + +COUNT BARDI + + A very noble gentleman, and well known + To the late Duke. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Sir, thou art come in time + To see the murder of the Duke avenged. + There stands the man who did this heinous thing. + +MORANZONE + + My lord, + I ask again what proof have ye? + +LORD JUSTICE [_holding up the dagger_] + + This dagger, + Which from his blood-stained hands, itself all blood, + Last night the soldiers seized: what further proof + Need we indeed? + +MORANZONE [_takes the danger and approaches the_ DUCHESS] + + Saw I not such a dagger + Hang from your Grace’s girdle yesterday? + + [_The_ DUCHESS _shudders and makes no answer_.] + + Ah! my Lord Justice, may I speak a moment + With this young man, who in such peril stands? + +LORD JUSTICE + + Ay, willingly, my lord, and may you turn him + To make a full avowal of his guilt. + +[LORD MORANZONE _goes over to_ GUIDO, _who stands R. and clutches him by +the hand_.] + +MORANZONE [_in a low voice_] + + She did it! Nay, I saw it in her eyes. + Boy, dost thou think I’ll let thy father’s son + Be by this woman butchered to his death? + Her husband sold your father, and the wife + Would sell the son in turn. + +GUIDO + + Lord Moranzone, + I alone did this thing: be satisfied, + My father is avenged. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Doth he confess? + +GUIDO + + My lord, I do confess + That foul unnatural murder has been done. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + Why, look at that: he has a pitiful heart, and does not like murder; + they will let him go for that. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Say you no more? + +GUIDO + + My lord, I say this also, + That to spill human blood is deadly sin. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + Marry, he should tell that to the headsman: ’tis a good sentiment. + +GUIDO + + Lastly, my lord, I do entreat the Court + To give me leave to utter openly + The dreadful secret of this mystery, + And to point out the very guilty one + Who with this dagger last night slew the Duke. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Thou hast leave to speak. + +DUCHESS [_rising_] + + I say he shall not speak: + What need have we of further evidence? + Was he not taken in the house at night + In Guilt’s own bloody livery? + +LORD JUSTICE [_showing her the statute_] + + Your Grace + Can read the law. + +DUCHESS [_waiving book aside_] + + Bethink you, my Lord Justice, + Is it not very like that such a one + May, in the presence of the people here, + Utter some slanderous word against my Lord, + Against the city, or the city’s honour, + Perchance against myself. + +LORD JUSTICE + + My liege, the law. + +DUCHESS + + He shall not speak, but, with gags in his mouth, + Shall climb the ladder to the bloody block. + +LORD JUSTICE + + The law, my liege. + +DUCHESS + + We are not bound by law, + But with it we bind others. + +MORANZONE + + My Lord Justice, + Thou wilt not suffer this injustice here. + +LORD JUSTICE + + The Court needs not thy voice, Lord Moranzone. + Madam, it were a precedent most evil + To wrest the law from its appointed course, + For, though the cause be just, yet anarchy + Might on this licence touch these golden scales + And unjust causes unjust victories gain. + +COUNT BARDI + + I do not think your Grace can stay the law. + +DUCHESS + + Ay, it is well to preach and prate of law: + Methinks, my haughty lords of Padua, + If ye are hurt in pocket or estate, + So much as makes your monstrous revenues + Less by the value of one ferry toll, + Ye do not wait the tedious law’s delay + With such sweet patience as ye counsel me. + +COUNT BARDI + + Madam, I think you wrong our nobles here. + +DUCHESS + + I think I wrong them not. Which of you all + Finding a thief within his house at night, + With some poor chattel thrust into his rags, + Will stop and parley with him? do ye not + Give him unto the officer and his hook + To be dragged gaolwards straightway? + And so now, + Had ye been men, finding this fellow here, + With my Lord’s life still hot upon his hands, + Ye would have haled him out into the court, + And struck his head off with an axe. + +GUIDO + + O God! + +DUCHESS + + Speak, my Lord Justice. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Your Grace, it cannot be: + The laws of Padua are most certain here: + And by those laws the common murderer even + May with his own lips plead, and make defence. + +DUCHESS + + This is no common murderer, Lord Justice, + But a great outlaw, and a most vile traitor, + Taken in open arms against the state. + For he who slays the man who rules a state + Slays the state also, widows every wife, + And makes each child an orphan, and no less + Is to be held a public enemy, + Than if he came with mighty ordonnance, + And all the spears of Venice at his back, + To beat and batter at our city gates— + Nay, is more dangerous to our commonwealth, + For walls and gates, bastions and forts, and things + Whose common elements are wood and stone + May be raised up, but who can raise again + The ruined body of my murdered lord, + And bid it live and laugh? + +MAFFIO + + Now by Saint Paul + I do not think that they will let him speak. + +JEPPO VITELLOZZO + + There is much in this, listen. + +DUCHESS + + Wherefore now, + Throw ashes on the head of Padua, + With sable banners hang each silent street, + Let every man be clad in solemn black; + But ere we turn to these sad rites of mourning + Let us bethink us of the desperate hand + Which wrought and brought this ruin on our state, + And straightway pack him to that narrow house, + Where no voice is, but with a little dust + Death fills right up the lying mouths of men. + +GUIDO + + Unhand me, knaves! I tell thee, my Lord Justice, + Thou mightst as well bid the untrammelled ocean, + The winter whirlwind, or the Alpine storm, + Not roar their will, as bid me hold my peace! + Ay! though ye put your knives into my throat, + Each grim and gaping wound shall find a tongue, + And cry against you. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Sir, this violence + Avails you nothing; for save the tribunal + Give thee a lawful right to open speech, + Naught that thou sayest can be credited. + + [_The_ DUCHESS _smiles and_ GUIDO _falls back with a gesture of + despair_.] + + Madam, myself, and these wise Justices, + Will with your Grace’s sanction now retire + Into another chamber, to decide + Upon this difficult matter of the law, + And search the statutes and the precedents. + +DUCHESS + + Go, my Lord Justice, search the statutes well, + Nor let this brawling traitor have his way. + +MORANZONE + + Go, my Lord Justice, search thy conscience well, + Nor let a man be sent to death unheard. + + [_Exit the_ LORD JUSTICE _and the Judges_.] + +DUCHESS + + Silence, thou evil genius of my life! + Thou com’st between us two a second time; + This time, my lord, I think the turn is mine. + +GUIDO + + I shall not die till I have uttered voice. + +DUCHESS + + Thou shalt die silent, and thy secret with thee. + +GUIDO + + Art thou that Beatrice, Duchess of Padua? + +DUCHESS + + I am what thou hast made me; look at me well, + I am thy handiwork. + +MAFFIO + + See, is she not + Like that white tigress which we saw at Venice, + Sent by some Indian soldan to the Doge? + +JEPPO + + Hush! she may hear thy chatter. + +HEADSMAN + + My young fellow, + I do not know why thou shouldst care to speak, + Seeing my axe is close upon thy neck, + And words of thine will never blunt its edge. + But if thou art so bent upon it, why + Thou mightest plead unto the Churchman yonder: + The common people call him kindly here, + Indeed I know he has a kindly soul. + +GUIDO + + This man, whose trade is death, hath courtesies + More than the others. + +HEADSMAN + + Why, God love you, sir, + I’ll do you your last service on this earth. + +GUIDO + + My good Lord Cardinal, in a Christian land, + With Lord Christ’s face of mercy looking down + From the high seat of Judgment, shall a man + Die unabsolved, unshrived? And if not so, + May I not tell this dreadful tale of sin, + If any sin there be upon my soul? + +DUCHESS + + Thou dost but waste thy time. + +CARDINAL + + Alack, my son, + I have no power with the secular arm. + My task begins when justice has been done, + To urge the wavering sinner to repent + And to confess to Holy Church’s ear + The dreadful secrets of a sinful mind. + +DUCHESS + + Thou mayest speak to the confessional + Until thy lips grow weary of their tale, + But here thou shalt not speak. + +GUIDO + + My reverend father, + You bring me but cold comfort. + +CARDINAL + + Nay, my son, + For the great power of our mother Church, + Ends not with this poor bubble of a world, + Of which we are but dust, as Jerome saith, + For if the sinner doth repentant die, + Our prayers and holy masses much avail + To bring the guilty soul from purgatory. + +DUCHESS + + And when in purgatory thou seest my Lord + With that red star of blood upon his heart, + Tell him I sent thee hither. + +GUIDO + + O dear God! + +MORANZONE + + This is the woman, is it, whom you loved? + +CARDINAL + + Your Grace is very cruel to this man. + +DUCHESS + + No more than he was cruel to her Grace. + +CARDINAL + + Yet mercy is the sovereign right of princes. + +DUCHESS + + I got no mercy, and I give it not. + He hath changed my heart into a heart of stone, + He hath sown rank nettles in a goodly field, + He hath poisoned the wells of pity in my breast, + He hath withered up all kindness at the root; + My life is as some famine murdered land, + Whence all good things have perished utterly: + I am what he hath made me. + + [_The_ DUCHESS _weeps_.] + +JEPPO + + Is it not strange + That she should so have loved the wicked Duke? + +MAFFIO + + It is most strange when women love their lords, + And when they love them not it is most strange. + +JEPPO + + What a philosopher thou art, Petrucci! + +MAFFIO + + Ay! I can bear the ills of other men, + Which is philosophy. + +DUCHESS + + They tarry long, + These greybeards and their council; bid them come; + Bid them come quickly, else I think my heart + Will beat itself to bursting: not indeed, + That I here care to live; God knows my life + Is not so full of joy, yet, for all that, + I would not die companionless, or go + Lonely to Hell. + Look, my Lord Cardinal, + Canst thou not see across my forehead here, + In scarlet letters writ, the word Revenge? + Fetch me some water, I will wash it off: + ’Twas branded there last night, but in the day-time + I need not wear it, need I, my Lord Cardinal? + Oh, how it sears and burns into my brain: + Give me a knife; not that one, but another, + And I will cut it out. + +CARDINAL + + It is most natural + To be incensed against the murderous hand + That treacherously stabbed your sleeping lord. + +DUCHESS + + I would, old Cardinal, I could burn that hand; + But it will burn hereafter. + +CARDINAL + + Nay, the Church + Ordains us to forgive our enemies. + +DUCHESS + + Forgiveness? what is that? I never got it. + They come at last: well, my Lord Justice, well. + + [_Enter the_ LORD JUSTICE.] + +LORD JUSTICE + + Most gracious Lady, and our sovereign Liege, + We have long pondered on the point at issue, + And much considered of your Grace’s wisdom, + And never wisdom spake from fairer lips— + +DUCHESS + + Proceed, sir, without compliment. + +LORD JUSTICE + + We find, + As your own Grace did rightly signify, + That any citizen, who by force or craft + Conspires against the person of the Liege, + Is _ipso facto_ outlaw, void of rights + Such as pertain to other citizens, + Is traitor, and a public enemy, + Who may by any casual sword be slain + Without the slayer’s danger; nay, if brought + Into the presence of the tribunal, + Must with dumb lips and silence reverent + Listen unto his well-deserved doom, + Nor has the privilege of open speech. + +DUCHESS + + I thank thee, my Lord Justice, heartily; + I like your law: and now I pray dispatch + This public outlaw to his righteous doom; + What is there more? + +LORD JUSTICE + + Ay, there is more, your Grace. + This man being alien born, not Paduan, + Nor by allegiance bound unto the Duke, + Save such as common nature doth lay down, + Hath, though accused of treasons manifold, + Whose slightest penalty is certain death, + Yet still the right of public utterance + Before the people and the open court; + Nay, shall be much entreated by the Court, + To make some formal pleading for his life, + Lest his own city, righteously incensed, + Should with an unjust trial tax our state, + And wars spring up against the commonwealth: + So merciful are the laws of Padua + Unto the stranger living in her gates. + +DUCHESS + + Being of my Lord’s household, is he stranger here? + +LORD JUSTICE + + Ay, until seven years of service spent + He cannot be a Paduan citizen. + +GUIDO + + I thank thee, my Lord Justice, heartily; + I like your law. + +SECOND CITIZEN + + I like no law at all: + Were there no law there’d be no law-breakers, + So all men would be virtuous. + +FIRST CITIZEN + + So they would; + ’Tis a wise saying that, and brings you far. + +TIPSTAFF + + Ay! to the gallows, knave. + +DUCHESS + + Is this the law? + +LORD JUSTICE + + It is the law most certainly, my liege. + +DUCHESS + + Show me the book: ’tis written in blood-red. + +JEPPO + + Look at the Duchess. + +DUCHESS + + Thou accursed law, + I would that I could tear thee from the state + As easy as I tear thee from this book. + + [_Tears out the page_.] + + Come here, Count Bardi: are you honourable? + Get a horse ready for me at my house, + For I must ride to Venice instantly. + +BARDI + + To Venice, Madam? + +DUCHESS + + Not a word of this, + Go, go at once. [_Exit_ COUNT BARDI.] + A moment, my Lord Justice. + If, as thou sayest it, this is the law— + Nay, nay, I doubt not that thou sayest right, + Though right be wrong in such a case as this— + May I not by the virtue of mine office + Adjourn this court until another day? + +LORD JUSTICE + + Madam, you cannot stay a trial for blood. + +DUCHESS + + I will not tarry then to hear this man + Rail with rude tongue against our sacred person. + Come, gentlemen. + +LORD JUSTICE + + My liege, + You cannot leave this court until the prisoner + Be purged or guilty of this dread offence. + +DUCHESS + + Cannot, Lord Justice? By what right do you + Set barriers in my path where I should go? + Am I not Duchess here in Padua, + And the state’s regent? + +LORD JUSTICE + + For that reason, Madam, + Being the fountain-head of life and death + Whence, like a mighty river, justice flows, + Without thy presence justice is dried up + And fails of purpose: thou must tarry here. + +DUCHESS + + What, wilt thou keep me here against my will? + +LORD JUSTICE + + We pray thy will be not against the law. + +DUCHESS + + What if I force my way out of the court? + +LORD JUSTICE + + Thou canst not force the Court to give thee way. + +DUCHESS + + I will not tarry. [_Rises from her seat_.] + +LORD JUSTICE + + Is the usher here? + Let him stand forth. [_Usher comes forward_.] + Thou knowest thy business, sir. + +[_The Usher closes the doors of the court_, _which are L._, _and when +the_ DUCHESS _and her retinue approach_, _kneels down_.] + +USHER + + In all humility I beseech your Grace + Turn not my duty to discourtesy, + Nor make my unwelcome office an offence. + +DUCHESS + + Is there no gentleman amongst you all + To prick this prating fellow from our way? + +MAFFIO [_drawing his sword_] + + Ay! that will I. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Count Maffio, have a care, + And you, sir. [_To_ JEPPO.] + The first man who draws his sword + Upon the meanest officer of this Court, + Dies before nightfall. + +DUCHESS + + Sirs, put up your swords: + It is most meet that I should hear this man. + + [_Goes back to throne_.] + +MORANZONE + + Now hast thou got thy enemy in thy hand. + +LORD JUSTICE [_taking the time-glass up_] + + Guido Ferranti, while the crumbling sand + Falls through this time-glass, thou hast leave to speak. + This and no more. + +GUIDO + + It is enough, my lord. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Thou standest on the extreme verge of death; + See that thou speakest nothing but the truth, + Naught else will serve thee. + +GUIDO + + If I speak it not, + Then give my body to the headsman there. + +LORD JUSTICE [_turns the time-glass_] + + Let there be silence while the prisoner speaks. + +TIPSTAFF + + Silence in the Court there. + +GUIDO + + My Lords Justices, + And reverent judges of this worthy court, + I hardly know where to begin my tale, + So strangely dreadful is this history. + First, let me tell you of what birth I am. + I am the son of that good Duke Lorenzo + Who was with damned treachery done to death + By a most wicked villain, lately Duke + Of this good town of Padua. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Have a care, + It will avail thee nought to mock this prince + Who now lies in his coffin. + +MAFFIO + + By Saint James, + This is the Duke of Parma’s rightful heir. + +JEPPO + + I always thought him noble. + +GUIDO + + I confess + That with the purport of a just revenge, + A most just vengeance on a man of blood, + I entered the Duke’s household, served his will, + Sat at his board, drank of his wine, and was + His intimate: so much I will confess, + And this too, that I waited till he grew + To give the fondest secrets of his life + Into my keeping, till he fawned on me, + And trusted me in every private matter + Even as my noble father trusted him; + That for this thing I waited. + + [_To the Headsman_.] + + Thou man of blood! + Turn not thine axe on me before the time: + Who knows if it be time for me to die? + Is there no other neck in court but mine? + +LORD JUSTICE + + The sand within the time-glass flows apace. + Come quickly to the murder of the Duke. + +GUIDO + + I will be brief: Last night at twelve o’ the clock, + By a strong rope I scaled the palace wall, + With purport to revenge my father’s murder— + Ay! with that purport I confess, my lord. + This much I will acknowledge, and this also, + That as with stealthy feet I climbed the stair + Which led unto the chamber of the Duke, + And reached my hand out for the scarlet cloth + Which shook and shivered in the gusty door, + Lo! the white moon that sailed in the great heaven + Flooded with silver light the darkened room, + Night lit her candles for me, and I saw + The man I hated, cursing in his sleep; + And thinking of a most dear father murdered, + Sold to the scaffold, bartered to the block, + I smote the treacherous villain to the heart + With this same dagger, which by chance I found + Within the chamber. + +DUCHESS [_rising from her seat_] + + Oh! + +GUIDO [_hurriedly_] + + I killed the Duke. + Now, my Lord Justice, if I may crave a boon, + Suffer me not to see another sun + Light up the misery of this loathsome world. + +LORD JUSTICE + + Thy boon is granted, thou shalt die to-night. + Lead him away. Come, Madam + +[GUIDO _is led off_; _as he goes the_ DUCHESS _stretches out her arms and +rushes down the stage_.] + +DUCHESS + + Guido! Guido! + + [_Faints_.] + + _Tableau_ + + END OF ACT IV. + + * * * * * + + + + +ACT V + + + SCENE + +_A dungeon in the public prison of Padua_; _Guido lies asleep on a +pallet_ (_L.C._); _a table with a goblet on it is set_ (_L.C._); _five +soldiers are drinking and playing dice in the corner on a stone table_; +_one of them has a lantern hung to his halbert_; _a torch is set in the +wall over Guido’s head_. _Two grated windows behind_, _one on each side +of the door which is_ (_C._), _look out into the passage_; _the stage is +rather dark_. + +FIRST SOLDIER [_throws dice_] + + Sixes again! good Pietro. + +SECOND SOLDIER + + I’ faith, lieutenant, I will play with thee no more. I will lose + everything. + +THIRD SOLDIER + + Except thy wits; thou art safe there! + +SECOND SOLDIER + + Ay, ay, he cannot take them from me. + +THIRD SOLDIER + + No; for thou hast no wits to give him. + +THE SOLDIERS [_loudly_] + + Ha! ha! ha! + +FIRST SOLDIER + + Silence! You will wake the prisoner; he is asleep. + +SECOND SOLDIER + + What matter? He will get sleep enough when he is buried. I warrant + he’d be glad if we could wake him when he’s in the grave. + +THIRD SOLDIER + + Nay! for when he wakes there it will be judgment day. + +SECOND SOLDIER + + Ay, and he has done a grievous thing; for, look you, to murder one of + us who are but flesh and blood is a sin, and to kill a Duke goes being + near against the law. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + Well, well, he was a wicked Duke. + +SECOND SOLDIER + + And so he should not have touched him; if one meddles with wicked + people, one is like to be tainted with their wickedness. + +THIRD SOLDIER + + Ay, that is true. How old is the prisoner? + +SECOND SOLDIER + + Old enough to do wrong, and not old enough to be wise. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + Why, then, he might be any age. + +SECOND SOLDIER + + They say the Duchess wanted to pardon him. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + Is that so? + +SECOND SOLDIER + + Ay, and did much entreat the Lord Justice, but he would not. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + I had thought, Pietro, that the Duchess was omnipotent. + +SECOND SOLDIER + + True, she is well-favoured; I know none so comely. + +THE SOLDIERS + + Ha! ha! ha! + +FIRST SOLDIER + + I meant I had thought our Duchess could do anything. + +SECOND SOLDIER + + Nay, for he is now given over to the Justices, and they will see that + justice be done; they and stout Hugh the headsman; but when his head + is off, why then the Duchess can pardon him if she likes; there is no + law against that. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + I do not think that stout Hugh, as you call him, will do the business + for him after all. This Guido is of gentle birth, and so by the law + can drink poison first, if it so be his pleasure. + +THIRD SOLDIER + + And if he does not drink it? + +FIRST SOLDIER + + Why, then, they will kill him. + + [_Knocking comes at the door_.] + +FIRST SOLDIER + + See who that is. + + [_Third Soldier goes over and looks through the wicket_.] + +THIRD SOLDIER + + It is a woman, sir. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + Is she pretty? + +THIRD SOLDIER + + I can’t tell. She is masked, lieutenant. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + It is only very ugly or very beautiful women who ever hide their + faces. Let her in. + + [_Soldier opens the door_, _and the_ DUCHESS _masked and cloaked + enters_.] + +DUCHESS [_to Third Soldier_] + + Are you the officer on guard? + +FIRST SOLDIER [_coming forward_] + + I am, madam. + +DUCHESS + + I must see the prisoner alone. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + I am afraid that is impossible. [_The_ DUCHESS _hands him a ring_, + _he looks at and returns it to her with a bow and makes a sign to the + Soldiers_.] Stand without there. + + [_Exeunt the Soldiers_.] + +DUCHESS + + Officer, your men are somewhat rough. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + They mean no harm. + +DUCHESS + + I shall be going back in a few minutes. As I pass through the + corridor do not let them try and lift my mask. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + You need not be afraid, madam. + +DUCHESS + + I have a particular reason for wishing my face not to be seen. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + Madam, with this ring you can go in and out as you please; it is the + Duchess’s own ring. + +DUCHESS + + Leave us. [_The Soldier turns to go out_.] A moment, sir. For what + hour is . . . + +FIRST SOLDIER + + At twelve o’clock, madam, we have orders to lead him out; but I dare + say he won’t wait for us; he’s more like to take a drink out of that + poison yonder. Men are afraid of the headsman. + +DUCHESS + + Is that poison? + +FIRST SOLDIER + + Ay, madam, and very sure poison too. + +DUCHESS + + You may go, sir. + +FIRST SOLDIER + + By Saint James, a pretty hand! I wonder who she is. Some woman who + loved him, perhaps. + + [_Exit_.] + +DUCHESS [_taking her mark off_] + + At last! + He can escape now in this cloak and vizard, + We are of a height almost: they will not know him; + As for myself what matter? + So that he does not curse me as he goes, + I care but little: I wonder will he curse me. + He has the right. It is eleven now; + They will not come till twelve. + + [_Goes over to the table_.] + + So this is poison. + Is it not strange that in this liquor here + There lies the key to all philosophies? + + [_Takes the cup up_.] + + It smells of poppies. I remember well + That, when I was a child in Sicily, + I took the scarlet poppies from the corn, + And made a little wreath, and my grave uncle, + Don John of Naples, laughed: I did not know + That they had power to stay the springs of life, + To make the pulse cease beating, and to chill + The blood in its own vessels, till men come + And with a hook hale the poor body out, + And throw it in a ditch: the body, ay,— + What of the soul? that goes to heaven or hell. + Where will mine go? + + [_Takes the torch from the wall_, _and goes over to the bed_.] + + How peacefully here he sleeps, + Like a young schoolboy tired out with play: + I would that I could sleep so peacefully, + But I have dreams. [_Bending over him_.] + Poor boy: what if I kissed him? + No, no, my lips would burn him like a fire. + He has had enough of Love. Still that white neck + Will ’scape the headsman: I have seen to that: + He will get hence from Padua to-night, + And that is well. You are very wise, Lord Justices, + And yet you are not half so wise as I am, + And that is well. + O God! how I have loved you, + And what a bloody flower did Love bear! + + [_Comes back to the table_.] + + What if I drank these juices, and so ceased? + Were it not better than to wait till Death + Come to my bed with all his serving men, + Remorse, disease, old age, and misery? + I wonder does one suffer much: I think + That I am very young to die like this, + But so it must be. Why, why should I die? + He will escape to-night, and so his blood + Will not be on my head. No, I must die; + I have been guilty, therefore I must die; + He loves me not, and therefore I must die: + I would die happier if he would kiss me, + But he will not do that. I did not know him. + I thought he meant to sell me to the Judge; + That is not strange; we women never know + Our lovers till they leave us. + + [_Bell begins to toll_.] + + Thou vile bell, + That like a bloodhound from thy brazen throat + Call’st for this man’s life, cease! thou shalt not get it. + He stirs—I must be quick: [_Takes up cup_.] + O Love, Love, Love, + I did not think that I would pledge thee thus! + +[_Drinks poison_, _and sets the cup down on the table behind her_: _the +noise wakens_ GUIDO, _who starts up_, _and does not see what she has +done_. _There is silence for a minute_, _each looking at the other_.] + + I do not come to ask your pardon now, + Seeing I know I stand beyond all pardon; + Enough of that: I have already, sir, + Confessed my sin to the Lords Justices; + They would not listen to me: and some said + I did invent a tale to save your life; + You have trafficked with me; others said + That women played with pity as with men; + Others that grief for my slain Lord and husband + Had robbed me of my wits: they would not hear me, + And, when I sware it on the holy book, + They bade the doctor cure me. They are ten, + Ten against one, and they possess your life. + They call me Duchess here in Padua. + I do not know, sir; if I be the Duchess, + I wrote your pardon, and they would not take it; + They call it treason, say I taught them that; + Maybe I did. Within an hour, Guido, + They will be here, and drag you from the cell, + And bind your hands behind your back, and bid you + Kneel at the block: I am before them there; + Here is the signet ring of Padua, + ’Twill bring you safely through the men on guard; + There is my cloak and vizard; they have orders + Not to be curious: when you pass the gate + Turn to the left, and at the second bridge + You will find horses waiting: by to-morrow + You will be at Venice, safe. [_A pause_.] + Do you not speak? + Will you not even curse me ere you go?— + You have the right. [_A pause_.] + You do not understand + There lies between you and the headsman’s axe + Hardly so much sand in the hour-glass + As a child’s palm could carry: here is the ring: + I have washed my hand: there is no blood upon it: + You need not fear. Will you not take the ring? + +GUIDO [_takes ring and kisses it_] + + Ay! gladly, Madam. + +DUCHESS + + And leave Padua. + +GUIDO + + Leave Padua. + +DUCHESS + + But it must be to-night. + +GUIDO + + To-night it shall be. + +DUCHESS + + Oh, thank God for that! + +GUIDO + + So I can live; life never seemed so sweet + As at this moment. + +DUCHESS + + Do not tarry, Guido, + There is my cloak: the horse is at the bridge, + The second bridge below the ferry house: + Why do you tarry? Can your ears not hear + This dreadful bell, whose every ringing stroke + Robs one brief minute from your boyish life. + Go quickly. + +GUIDO + + Ay! he will come soon enough. + +DUCHESS + + Who? + +GUIDO [_calmly_] + + Why, the headsman. + +DUCHESS + + No, no. + +GUIDO + + Only he + Can bring me out of Padua. + +DUCHESS + + You dare not! + You dare not burden my o’erburdened soul + With two dead men! I think one is enough. + For when I stand before God, face to face, + I would not have you, with a scarlet thread + Around your white throat, coming up behind + To say I did it. + +GUIDO + + Madam, I wait. + +DUCHESS + + No, no, you cannot: you do not understand, + I have less power in Padua to-night + Than any common woman; they will kill you. + I saw the scaffold as I crossed the square, + Already the low rabble throng about it + With fearful jests, and horrid merriment, + As though it were a morris-dancer’s platform, + And not Death’s sable throne. O Guido, Guido, + You must escape! + +GUIDO + + Madam, I tarry here. + +DUCHESS + + Guido, you shall not: it would be a thing + So terrible that the amazed stars + Would fall from heaven, and the palsied moon + Be in her sphere eclipsed, and the great sun + Refuse to shine upon the unjust earth + Which saw thee die. + +GUIDO + + Be sure I shall not stir. + +DUCHESS [_wringing her hands_] + + Is one sin not enough, but must it breed + A second sin more horrible again + Than was the one that bare it? O God, God, + Seal up sin’s teeming womb, and make it barren, + I will not have more blood upon my hand + Than I have now. + +GUIDO [_seizing her hand_] + + What! am I fallen so low + That I may not have leave to die for you? + +DUCHESS [_tearing her hand away_] + + Die for me?—no, my life is a vile thing, + Thrown to the miry highways of this world; + You shall not die for me, you shall not, Guido; + I am a guilty woman. + +GUIDO + + Guilty?—let those + Who know what a thing temptation is, + Let those who have not walked as we have done, + In the red fire of passion, those whose lives + Are dull and colourless, in a word let those, + If any such there be, who have not loved, + Cast stones against you. As for me— + +DUCHESS + + Alas! + +GUIDO [_falling at her feet_] + + You are my lady, and you are my love! + O hair of gold, O crimson lips, O face + Made for the luring and the love of man! + Incarnate image of pure loveliness! + Worshipping thee I do forget the past, + Worshipping thee my soul comes close to thine, + Worshipping thee I seem to be a god, + And though they give my body to the block, + Yet is my love eternal! + + [DUCHESS _puts her hands over her face_: GUIDO _draws them down_.] + + Sweet, lift up + The trailing curtains that overhang your eyes + That I may look into those eyes, and tell you + I love you, never more than now when Death + Thrusts his cold lips between us: Beatrice, + I love you: have you no word left to say? + Oh, I can bear the executioner, + But not this silence: will you not say you love me? + Speak but that word and Death shall lose his sting, + But speak it not, and fifty thousand deaths + Are, in comparison, mercy. Oh, you are cruel, + And do not love me. + +DUCHESS + + Alas! I have no right + For I have stained the innocent hands of love + With spilt-out blood: there is blood on the ground; + I set it there. + +GUIDO + + Sweet, it was not yourself, + It was some devil tempted you. + +DUCHESS [_rising suddenly_] + + No, no, + We are each our own devil, and we make + This world our hell. + +GUIDO + + Then let high Paradise + Fall into Tartarus! for I shall make + This world my heaven for a little space. + The sin was mine, if any sin there was. + ’Twas I who nurtured murder in my heart, + Sweetened my meats, seasoned my wine with it, + And in my fancy slew the accursed Duke + A hundred times a day. Why, had this man + Died half so often as I wished him to, + Death had been stalking ever through the house, + And murder had not slept. + But you, fond heart, + Whose little eyes grew tender over a whipt hound, + You whom the little children laughed to see + Because you brought the sunlight where you passed, + You the white angel of God’s purity, + This which men call your sin, what was it? + +DUCHESS + + Ay! + What was it? There are times it seems a dream, + An evil dream sent by an evil god, + And then I see the dead face in the coffin + And know it is no dream, but that my hand + Is red with blood, and that my desperate soul + Striving to find some haven for its love + From the wild tempest of this raging world, + Has wrecked its bark upon the rocks of sin. + What was it, said you?—murder merely? Nothing + But murder, horrible murder. + +GUIDO + + Nay, nay, nay, + ’Twas but the passion-flower of your love + That in one moment leapt to terrible life, + And in one moment bare this gory fruit, + Which I had plucked in thought a thousand times. + My soul was murderous, but my hand refused; + Your hand wrought murder, but your soul was pure. + And so I love you, Beatrice, and let him + Who has no mercy for your stricken head, + Lack mercy up in heaven! Kiss me, sweet. + + [_Tries to kiss her_.] + +DUCHESS + + No, no, your lips are pure, and mine are soiled, + For Guilt has been my paramour, and Sin + Lain in my bed: O Guido, if you love me + Get hence, for every moment is a worm + Which gnaws your life away: nay, sweet, get hence, + And if in after time you think of me, + Think of me as of one who loved you more + Than anything on earth; think of me, Guido, + As of a woman merely, one who tried + To make her life a sacrifice to love, + And slew love in the trial: Oh, what is that? + The bell has stopped from ringing, and I hear + The feet of armed men upon the stair. + +GUIDO [_aside_] + + That is the signal for the guard to come. + +DUCHESS + + Why has the bell stopped ringing? + +GUIDO + + If you must know, + That stops my life on this side of the grave, + But on the other we shall meet again. + +DUCHESS + + No, no, ’tis not too late: you must get hence; + The horse is by the bridge, there is still time. + Away, away, you must not tarry here! + + [_Noise of Soldiers in the passage_.] + +A VOICE OUTSIDE + + Room for the Lord Justice of Padua! + +[_The_ LORD JUSTICE _is seen through the grated window passing down the +corridor preceded by men bearing torches_.] + +DUCHESS + + It is too late. + +A VOICE OUTSIDE + + Room for the headsman. + +DUCHESS [_sinks down_] + + Oh! + +[_The Headsman with his axe on his shoulder is seen passing the +corridor_, _followed by Monks bearing candles_.] + +GUIDO + + Farewell, dear love, for I must drink this poison. + I do not fear the headsman, but I would die + Not on the lonely scaffold. + But here, + Here in thine arms, kissing thy mouth: farewell! + + [_Goes to the table and takes the goblet up_.] + + What, art thou empty? + + [_Throws it to the ground_.] + + O thou churlish gaoler, + Even of poisons niggard! + +DUCHESS [_faintly_] + + Blame him not. + +GUIDO + + O God! you have not drunk it, Beatrice? + Tell me you have not? + +DUCHESS + + Were I to deny it, + There is a fire eating at my heart + Which would find utterance. + +GUIDO + + O treacherous love, + Why have you not left a drop for me? + +DUCHESS + + No, no, it held but death enough for one. + +GUIDO + + Is there no poison still upon your lips, + That I may draw it from them? + +DUCHESS + + Why should you die? + You have not spilt blood, and so need not die: + I have spilt blood, and therefore I must die. + Was it not said blood should be spilt for blood? + Who said that? I forget. + +GUIDO + + Tarry for me, + Our souls will go together. + +DUCHESS + + Nay, you must live. + There are many other women in the world + Who will love you, and not murder for your sake. + +GUIDO + + I love you only. + +DUCHESS + + You need not die for that. + +GUIDO + + Ah, if we die together, love, why then + Can we not lie together in one grave? + +DUCHESS + + A grave is but a narrow wedding-bed. + +GUIDO + + It is enough for us + +DUCHESS + + And they will strew it + With a stark winding-sheet, and bitter herbs: + I think there are no roses in the grave, + Or if there are, they all are withered now + Since my Lord went there. + +GUIDO + + Ah! dear Beatrice, + Your lips are roses that death cannot wither. + +DUCHESS + + Nay, if we lie together, will not my lips + Fall into dust, and your enamoured eyes + Shrivel to sightless sockets, and the worms, + Which are our groomsmen, eat away your heart? + +GUIDO + + I do not care: Death has no power on love. + And so by Love’s immortal sovereignty + I will die with you. + +DUCHESS + + But the grave is black, + And the pit black, so I must go before + To light the candles for your coming hither. + No, no, I will not die, I will not die. + Love, you are strong, and young, and very brave; + Stand between me and the angel of death, + And wrestle with him for me. + + [_Thrusts_ GUIDO _in front of her with his back to the audience_.] + + I will kiss you, + When you have thrown him. Oh, have you no cordial, + To stay the workings of this poison in me? + Are there no rivers left in Italy + That you will not fetch me one cup of water + To quench this fire? + +GUIDO + + O God! + +DUCHESS + + You did not tell me + There was a drought in Italy, and no water: + Nothing but fire. + +GUIDO + + O Love! + +DUCHESS + + Send for a leech, + Not him who stanched my husband, but another + We have no time: send for a leech, I say: + There is an antidote against each poison, + And he will sell it if we give him money. + Tell him that I will give him Padua, + For one short hour of life: I will not die. + Oh, I am sick to death; no, do not touch me, + This poison gnaws my heart: I did not know + It was such pain to die: I thought that life + Had taken all the agonies to itself; + It seems it is not so. + +GUIDO + + O damnéd stars + Quench your vile cresset-lights in tears, and bid + The moon, your mistress, shine no more to-night. + +DUCHESS + + Guido, why are we here? I think this room + Is poorly furnished for a marriage chamber. + Let us get hence at once. Where are the horses? + We should be on our way to Venice now. + How cold the night is! We must ride faster. + + [_The Monks begin to chant outside_.] + + Music! It should be merrier; but grief + Is of the fashion now—I know not why. + You must not weep: do we not love each other?— + That is enough. Death, what do you here? + You were not bidden to this table, sir; + Away, we have no need of you: I tell you + It was in wine I pledged you, not in poison. + They lied who told you that I drank your poison. + It was spilt upon the ground, like my Lord’s blood; + You came too late. + +GUIDO + + Sweet, there is nothing there: + These things are only unreal shadows. + +DUCHESS + + Death, + Why do you tarry, get to the upper chamber; + The cold meats of my husband’s funeral feast + Are set for you; this is a wedding feast. + You are out of place, sir; and, besides, ’tis summer. + We do not need these heavy fires now, + You scorch us. + Oh, I am burned up, + Can you do nothing? Water, give me water, + Or else more poison. No: I feel no pain— + Is it not curious I should feel no pain?— + And Death has gone away, I am glad of that. + I thought he meant to part us. Tell me, Guido, + Are you not sorry that you ever saw me? + +GUIDO + + I swear I would not have lived otherwise. + Why, in this dull and common world of ours + Men have died looking for such moments as this + And have not found them. + +DUCHESS + + Then you are not sorry? + How strange that seems. + +GUIDO + + What, Beatrice, have I not + Stood face to face with beauty? That is enough + For one man’s life. Why, love, I could be merry; + I have been often sadder at a feast, + But who were sad at such a feast as this + When Love and Death are both our cup-bearers? + We love and die together. + +DUCHESS + + Oh, I have been + Guilty beyond all women, and indeed + Beyond all women punished. Do you think— + No, that could not be—Oh, do you think that love + Can wipe the bloody stain from off my hands, + Pour balm into my wounds, heal up my hurts, + And wash my scarlet sins as white as snow?— + For I have sinned. + +GUIDO + + They do not sin at all + Who sin for love. + +DUCHESS + + No, I have sinned, and yet + Perchance my sin will be forgiven me. + I have loved much + +[_They kiss each other now for the first time in this Act_, _when +suddenly the_ DUCHESS _leaps up in the dreadful spasm of death_, _tears +in agony at her dress_, _and finally_, _with face twisted and distorted +with pain_, _falls back dead in a chair_. GUIDO _seizing her dagger from +her belt_, _kills himself_; _and_, _as he falls across her knees_, +_clutches at the cloak which is on the back of the chair_, _and throws it +entirely over her_. _There is a little pause_. _Then down the passage +comes the tramp of Soldiers_; _the door is opened_, _and the_ LORD +JUSTICE, _the Headsman_, _and the Guard enter and see this figure +shrouded in black_, _and_ GUIDO _lying dead across her_. _The_ LORD +JUSTICE _rushes forward and drags the cloak off the_ DUCHESS, _whose face +is now the marble image of peace_, _the sign of God’s forgiveness_.] + + _Tableau_ + + CURTAIN + + * * * * * + + Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty + at the Edinburgh University Press + + * * * * * + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUCHESS OF PADUA*** + + +******* This file should be named 875-0.txt or 875-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/7/875 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this +eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook +for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, +performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given +away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks +not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the +trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country outside the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and + most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no + restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it + under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this + eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the + United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you + are located before using this ebook. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The +Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the +mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its +volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous +locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt +Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to +date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and +official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + |