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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: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUCHESS OF PADUA***
</pre>
<p>Transcribed from the 1916 Methuen and Co. edition by David
Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p>
<h1>THE<br />
DUCHESS OF PADUA</h1>
<p style="text-align: center">A PLAY</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br
/>
OSCAR WILDE</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center">METHUEN & CO. LTD.<br />
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.<br />
LONDON</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Fifth Edition</i></p>
<h2>THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY</h2>
<p>Simone Gesso, Duke of Padua</p>
<p>Beatrice, his Wife</p>
<p>Andreas Pollajuolo, Cardinal of Padua</p>
<p>Maffio Petrucci, Jeppo Vitellozzo, Taddeo Bardi } Gentlemen of
the Duke’s Household</p>
<p>Guido Ferranti, a Young Man</p>
<p>Ascanio Cristofano, his Friend</p>
<p>Count Moranzone, an Old Man</p>
<p>Bernardo Cavalcanti, Lord Justice of Padua</p>
<p>Hugo, the Headsman</p>
<p>Lucy, a Tire woman</p>
<p>Servants, Citizens, Soldiers, Monks, Falconers with their
hawks and dogs, etc.</p>
<div class="gapshortline"> </div>
<p><span class="smcap">Place</span>: <i>Padua</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Time</span>: <i>The latter half of the
Sixteenth Century</i></p>
<h2>THE SCENES OF THE PLAY</h2>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Act</span> I.</p>
</td>
<td><p><i>The Market Place of Padua</i> (25 <i>minutes</i>).</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Act</span> II.</p>
</td>
<td><p><i>Room in the Duke’s Palace</i> (36
<i>minutes</i>).</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Act</span> III.</p>
</td>
<td><p><i>Corridor in the Duke’s Palace</i> (29
<i>minutes</i>).</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Act</span> IV.</p>
</td>
<td><p><i>The Hall of Justice</i> (31 <i>minutes</i>).</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Act</span> V.</p>
</td>
<td><p><i>The Dungeon</i> (25 <i>minutes</i>).</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Style of Architecture</i>:
Italian, Gothic and Romanesque.</p>
<h2>ACT I</h2>
<p style="text-align: center">SCENE</p>
<p><i>The Market Place of Padua at noon</i>; <i>in the background
is the great Cathedral of Padua</i>; <i>the architecture is
Romanesque</i>, <i>and wrought in black and white marbles</i>;
<i>a flight of marble steps leads up to the Cathedral door</i>;
<i>at the foot of the steps are two large stone lions</i>; <i>the
houses on each aide of the stage have coloured awnings from their
windows</i>, <i>and are flanked by stone arcades</i>; <i>on the
right of the stage is the public fountain</i>, <i>with a triton
in green bronze blowing from a conch</i>; <i>around the fountain
is a stone seat</i>; <i>the bell of the Cathedral is ringing</i>,
<i>and the citizens</i>, <i>men</i>, <i>women and children</i>,
<i>are passing into the Cathedral</i>.</p>
<p>[<i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Guido Ferranti</span>
<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Ascanio Cristofano</span>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">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!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Sits down on the step of the
fountain</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I think it must be here. [<i>Goes up to
passer-by and doffs his cap</i>.] Pray, sir, is this the
market place, and that the church of Santa Croce?
[<i>Citizen bows</i>.] I thank you, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Well?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! it is here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I would it were somewhere else, for I see no
wine-shop.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">[<i>Taking a letter from his pocket and reading
it</i>.] ‘The hour noon; the city, Padua; the place,
the market; and the day, Saint Philip’s Day.’</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And what of the man, how shall we know him?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>reading still</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">‘I will wear a violet cloak with a silver
falcon broidered on the shoulder.’ A brave attire,
Ascanio.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I’d sooner have my leathern jerkin.
And you think he will tell you of your father?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And you don’t know who your father
is?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No recollection of him even?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">None, Ascanio, none.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span> [<i>laughing</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Then he could never have boxed your ears so
often as my father did mine.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>smiling</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">I am sure you never deserved it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Never; and that made it worse. I
hadn’t the consciousness of guilt to buoy me up. What
hour did you say he fixed?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Noon.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Clock in the Cathedral
strikes</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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. [<i>Rises</i>.] 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.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Well, I suppose you are right. Ah!
[<i>Just as he is leaving the stage with</i> <span
class="smcap">Ascanio</span>, <i>enter</i> <span
class="smcap">Lord Moranzone</span> <i>in a violet cloak</i>,
<i>with a silver falcon broidered on the shoulder</i>; <i>he
passes across to the Cathedral</i>, <i>and just as he is going
in</i> <span class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>runs up and touches
him</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guido Ferranti, thou hast come in time.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What! Does my father live?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! lives in thee.<br />
Thou art the same in mould and lineament,<br />
Carriage and form, and outward semblances;<br />
I trust thou art in noble mind the same.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, tell me of my father; I have lived<br />
But for this moment.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">We must be alone.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">This is my dearest friend, who out of love<br
/>
Has followed me to Padua; as two brothers,<br />
There is no secret which we do not share.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">There is one secret which ye shall not
share;<br />
Bid him go hence.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>to</i> <span
class="smcap">Ascanio</span>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Come back within the hour.<br />
He does not know that nothing in this world<br />
Can dim the perfect mirror of our love.<br />
Within the hour come.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Speak not to him,<br />
There is a dreadful terror in his look.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>laughing</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, nay, I doubt not that he has come to
tell<br />
That I am some great Lord of Italy,<br />
And we will have long days of joy together.<br />
Within the hour, dear Ascanio.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span
class="smcap">Ascanio</span>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Now tell me of my father? [<i>Sits down
on a stone seat</i>.]<br />
Stood he tall?<br />
I warrant he looked tall upon his horse.<br />
His hair was black? or perhaps a reddish gold,<br />
Like a red fire of gold? Was his voice low?<br />
The very bravest men have voices sometimes<br />
Full of low music; or a clarion was it<br />
That brake with terror all his enemies?<br />
Did he ride singly? or with many squires<br />
And valiant gentlemen to serve his state?<br />
For oftentimes methinks I feel my veins<br />
Beat with the blood of kings. Was he a king?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, of all men he was the kingliest.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>proudly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Then when you saw my noble father last<br />
He was set high above the heads of men?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, he was high above the heads of men,</p>
<p>[<i>Walks over to</i> <span class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>and
puts his hand upon his shoulder</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">On a red scaffold, with a butcher’s
block<br />
Set for his neck.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>leaping up</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">What dreadful man art thou,<br />
That like a raven, or the midnight owl,<br />
Com’st with this awful message from the grave?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I am known here as the Count Moranzone,<br />
Lord of a barren castle on a rock,<br />
With a few acres of unkindly land<br />
And six not thrifty servants. But I was one<br />
Of Parma’s noblest princes; more than that,<br />
I was your father’s friend.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>clasping his
hand</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Tell me of him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You are the son of that great Duke Lorenzo,<br
/>
He was the Prince of Parma, and the Duke<br />
Of all the fair domains of Lombardy<br />
Down to the gates of Florence; nay, Florence even<br />
Was wont to pay him tribute—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Come to his death.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You will hear that soon enough. Being at
war—<br />
O noble lion of war, that would not suffer<br />
Injustice done in Italy!—he led<br />
The very flower of chivalry against<br />
That foul adulterous Lord of Rimini,<br />
Giovanni Malatesta—whom God curse!<br />
And was by him in treacherous ambush taken,<br />
And like a villain, or a low-born knave,<br />
Was by him on the public scaffold murdered.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>clutching his
dagger</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Doth Malatesta live?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, he is dead.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Did you say dead? O too swift runner,
Death,<br />
Couldst thou not wait for me a little space,<br />
And I had done thy bidding!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>clutching his
wrist</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Thou canst do it!<br />
The man who sold thy father is alive.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Sold! was my father sold?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! trafficked for,<br />
Like a vile chattel, for a price betrayed,<br />
Bartered and bargained for in privy market<br />
By one whom he had held his perfect friend,<br />
One he had trusted, one he had well loved,<br />
One whom by ties of kindness he had bound—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And he lives<br />
Who sold my father?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I will bring you to him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">So, Judas, thou art living! well, I will
make<br />
This world thy field of blood, so buy it straight-way,<br />
For thou must hang there.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Judas said you, boy?<br />
Yes, Judas in his treachery, but still<br />
He was more wise than Judas was, and held<br />
Those thirty silver pieces not enough.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What got he for my father’s blood?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What got he?<br />
Why cities, fiefs, and principalities,<br />
Vineyards, and lands.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Of which he shall but keep<br />
Six feet of ground to rot in. Where is he,<br />
This damned villain, this foul devil? where?<br />
Show me the man, and come he cased in steel,<br />
In complete panoply and pride of war,<br />
Ay, guarded by a thousand men-at-arms,<br />
Yet I shall reach him through their spears, and feel<br />
The last black drop of blood from his black heart<br />
Crawl down my blade. Show me the man, I say,<br />
And I will kill him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>coldly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Fool, what revenge is there?<br />
Death is the common heritage of all,<br />
And death comes best when it comes suddenly.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes up close to</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Your father was betrayed, there is your cue;<br
/>
For you shall sell the seller in his turn.<br />
I will make you of his household, you shall sit<br />
At the same board with him, eat of his bread—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O bitter bread!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thy palate is too nice,<br />
Revenge will make it sweet. Thou shalt o’ nights<br
/>
Pledge him in wine, drink from his cup, and be<br />
His intimate, so he will fawn on thee,<br />
Love thee, and trust thee in all secret things.<br />
If he bid thee be merry thou must laugh,<br />
And if it be his humour to be sad<br />
Thou shalt don sables. Then when the time is
ripe—</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Guido</span>
<i>clutches his sword</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, nay, I trust thee not; your hot young
blood,<br />
Undisciplined nature, and too violent rage<br />
Will never tarry for this great revenge,<br />
But wreck itself on passion.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou knowest me not.<br />
Tell me the man, and I in everything<br />
Will do thy bidding.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Well, when the time is ripe,<br />
The victim trusting and the occasion sure,<br />
I will by sudden secret messenger<br />
Send thee a sign.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">How shall I kill him, tell me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">That night thou shalt creep into his private
chamber;<br />
But if he sleep see that thou wake him first,<br />
And hold thy hand upon his throat, ay! that way,<br />
Then having told him of what blood thou art,<br />
Sprung from what father, and for what revenge,<br />
Bid him to pray for mercy; when he prays,<br />
Bid him to set a price upon his life,<br />
And when he strips himself of all his gold<br />
Tell him thou needest not gold, and hast not mercy,<br />
And do thy business straight away. Swear to me<br />
Thou wilt not kill him till I bid thee do it,<br />
Or else I go to mine own house, and leave<br />
Thee ignorant, and thy father unavenged.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Now by my father’s sword—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">The common hangman<br />
Brake that in sunder in the public square.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Then by my father’s grave—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What grave? what grave?<br />
Your noble father lieth in no grave,<br />
I saw his dust strewn on the air, his ashes<br />
Whirled through the windy streets like common straws<br />
To plague a beggar’s eyesight, and his head,<br />
That gentle head, set on the prison spike,<br />
For the vile rabble in their insolence<br />
To shoot their tongues at.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Was it so indeed?<br />
Then by my father’s spotless memory,<br />
And by the shameful manner of his death,<br />
And by the base betrayal by his friend,<br />
For these at least remain, by these I swear<br />
I will not lay my hand upon his life<br />
Until you bid me, then—God help his soul,<br />
For he shall die as never dog died yet.<br />
And now, the sign, what is it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">This dagger, boy;<br />
It was your father’s.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, let me look at it!<br />
I do remember now my reputed uncle,<br />
That good old husbandman I left at home,<br />
Told me a cloak wrapped round me when a babe<br />
Bare too such yellow leopards wrought in gold;<br />
I like them best in steel, as they are here,<br />
They suit my purpose better. Tell me, sir,<br />
Have you no message from my father to me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Poor boy, you never saw that noble father,<br
/>
For when by his false friend he had been sold,<br />
Alone of all his gentlemen I escaped<br />
To bear the news to Parma to the Duchess.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Speak to me of my mother.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">When thy mother<br />
Heard my black news, she fell into a swoon,<br />
And, being with untimely travail seized—<br />
Bare thee into the world before thy time,<br />
And then her soul went heavenward, to wait<br />
Thy father, at the gates of Paradise.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">A mother dead, a father sold and bartered!<br
/>
I seem to stand on some beleaguered wall,<br />
And messenger comes after messenger<br />
With a new tale of terror; give me breath,<br />
Mine ears are tired.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">When thy mother died,<br />
Fearing our enemies, I gave it out<br />
Thou wert dead also, and then privily<br />
Conveyed thee to an ancient servitor,<br />
Who by Perugia lived; the rest thou knowest.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Saw you my father afterwards?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! once;<br />
In mean attire, like a vineyard dresser,<br />
I stole to Rimini.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>taking his hand</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">O generous heart!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">One can buy everything in Rimini,<br />
And so I bought the gaolers! when your father<br />
Heard that a man child had been born to him,<br />
His noble face lit up beneath his helm<br />
Like a great fire seen far out at sea,<br />
And taking my two hands, he bade me, Guido,<br />
To rear you worthy of him; so I have reared you<br />
To revenge his death upon the friend who sold him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou hast done well; I for my father thank
thee.<br />
And now his name?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">How you remind me of him,<br />
You have each gesture that your father had.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">The traitor’s name?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou wilt hear that anon;<br />
The Duke and other nobles at the Court<br />
Are coming hither.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What of that? his name?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Do they not seem a valiant company<br />
Of honourable, honest gentlemen?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">His name, milord?</p>
<p>[<i>Enter the</i> <span class="smcap">Duke of Padua</span>
<i>with</i> <span class="smcap">Count Bardi</span>, <span
class="smcap">Maffio</span>, <span class="smcap">Petrucci</span>,
<i>and other gentlemen of his Court</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>quickly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">The man to whom I kneel<br />
Is he who sold your father! mark me well.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>clutches hit
dagger</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">The Duke!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Leave off that fingering of thy knife.<br />
Hast thou so soon forgotten? [<i>Kneels to the</i> <span
class="smcap">Duke</span>.]<br />
My noble Lord.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Welcome, Count Moranzone; ’tis some
time<br />
Since we have seen you here in Padua.<br />
We hunted near your castle yesterday—<br />
Call you it castle? that bleak house of yours<br />
Wherein you sit a-mumbling o’er your beads,<br />
Telling your vices like a good old man.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Catches sight of</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>and starts back</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Who is that?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My sister’s son, your Grace,<br />
Who being now of age to carry arms,<br />
Would for a season tarry at your Court</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span> [<i>still looking at</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span>]</p>
<p class="poetry">What is his name?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guido Ferranti, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">His city?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">He is Mantuan by birth.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span> [<i>advancing towards</i>
<span class="smcap">Guido</span>]</p>
<p class="poetry">You have the eyes of one I used to know,<br />
But he died childless. Are you honest, boy?<br />
Then be not spendthrift of your honesty,<br />
But keep it to yourself; in Padua<br />
Men think that honesty is ostentatious, so<br />
It is not of the fashion. Look at these lords.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Count Bardi</span> [<i>aside</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Here is some bitter arrow for us, sure.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, every man among them has his price,<br />
Although, to do them justice, some of them<br />
Are quite expensive.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Count Bardi</span> [<i>aside</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">There it comes indeed.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">So be not honest; eccentricity<br />
Is not a thing should ever be encouraged,<br />
Although, in this dull stupid age of ours,<br />
The most eccentric thing a man can do<br />
Is to have brains, then the mob mocks at him;<br />
And for the mob, despise it as I do,<br />
I hold its bubble praise and windy favours<br />
In such account, that popularity<br />
Is the one insult I have never suffered.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Maffio</span> [<i>aside</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">He has enough of hate, if he needs that.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Have prudence; in your dealings with the
world<br />
Be not too hasty; act on the second thought,<br />
First impulses are generally good.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>aside</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Surely a toad sits on his lips, and spills its
venom there.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">See thou hast enemies,<br />
Else will the world think very little of thee;<br />
It is its test of power; yet see thou show’st<br />
A smiling mask of friendship to all men,<br />
Until thou hast them safely in thy grip,<br />
Then thou canst crush them.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>aside</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">O wise philosopher!<br />
That for thyself dost dig so deep a grave.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>to him</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Dost thou mark his words?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, be thou sure I do.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And be not over-scrupulous; clean hands<br />
With nothing in them make a sorry show.<br />
If you would have the lion’s share of life<br />
You must wear the fox’s skin. Oh, it will fit you;<br
/>
It is a coat which fitteth every man.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Your Grace, I shall remember.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">That is well, boy, well.<br />
I would not have about me shallow fools,<br />
Who with mean scruples weigh the gold of life,<br />
And faltering, paltering, end by failure; failure,<br />
The only crime which I have not committed:<br />
I would have <i>men</i> about me. As for conscience,<br />
Conscience is but the name which cowardice<br />
Fleeing from battle scrawls upon its shield.<br />
You understand me, boy?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I do, your Grace,<br />
And will in all things carry out the creed<br />
Which you have taught me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Maffio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I never heard your Grace<br />
So much in the vein for preaching; let the Cardinal<br />
Look to his laurels, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">The Cardinal!<br />
Men follow my creed, and they gabble his.<br />
I do not think much of the Cardinal;<br />
Although he is a holy churchman, and<br />
I quite admit his dulness. Well, sir, from now<br />
We count you of our household</p>
<p>[<i>He holds out his hand for</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>to kiss</i>. <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>starts back in horror</i>, <i>but
at a gesture from</i> <span class="smcap">Count Moranzone</span>,
<i>kneels and kisses it</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">We will see<br />
That you are furnished with such equipage<br />
As doth befit your honour and our state.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I thank your Grace most heartily.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Tell me again<br />
What is your name?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guido Ferranti, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And you are Mantuan? Look to your wives,
my lords,<br />
When such a gallant comes to Padua.<br />
Thou dost well to laugh, Count Bardi; I have noted<br />
How merry is that husband by whose hearth<br />
Sits an uncomely wife.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Maffio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">May it please your Grace,<br />
The wives of Padua are above suspicion.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What, are they so ill-favoured! Let us
go,<br />
This Cardinal detains our pious Duchess;<br />
His sermon and his beard want cutting both:<br />
Will you come with us, sir, and hear a text<br />
From holy Jerome?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>bowing</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">My liege, there are some matters—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span> [<i>interrupting</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Thou need’st make no excuse for missing
mass.<br />
Come, gentlemen.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit with his suite into
Cathedral</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>after a pause</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">So the Duke sold my father;<br />
I kissed his hand.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou shalt do that many times.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Must it be so?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! thou hast sworn an oath.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">That oath shall make me marble.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Farewell, boy,<br />
Thou wilt not see me till the time is ripe.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I pray thou comest quickly.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I will come<br />
When it is time; be ready.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Fear me not.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Here is your friend; see that you banish him<br
/>
Both from your heart and Padua.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">From Padua,<br />
Not from my heart.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, from thy heart as well,<br />
I will not leave thee till I see thee do it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Can I have no friend?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Revenge shall be thy friend;<br />
Thou need’st no other.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Well, then be it so.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Enter</i> <span
class="smcap">Ascanio Cristofano</span>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, that we two must part, Ascanio.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">That would be news indeed, but it is not
true.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Too true it is, you must get hence, Ascanio,<br
/>
And never look upon my face again.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, no; indeed you do not know me, Guido;<br />
’Tis true I am a common yeoman’s son,<br />
Nor versed in fashions of much courtesy;<br />
But, if you are nobly born, cannot I be<br />
Your serving man? I will tend you with more love<br />
Than any hired servant.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>clasping his
hand</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Ascanio!</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Sees</i> <span
class="smcap">Moranzone</span> <i>looking at him and drops</i>
<span class="smcap">Ascanio’s</span> <i>hand</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">It cannot be.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What, is it so with you?<br />
I thought the friendship of the antique world<br />
Was not yet dead, but that the Roman type<br />
Might even in this poor and common age<br />
Find counterparts of love; then by this love<br />
Which beats between us like a summer sea,<br />
Whatever lot has fallen to your hand<br />
May I not share it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Share it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, no.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Have you then come to some inheritance<br />
Of lordly castle, or of stored-up gold?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>bitterly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! I have come to my inheritance.<br />
O bloody legacy! and O murderous dole!<br />
Which, like the thrifty miser, must I hoard,<br />
And to my own self keep; and so, I pray you,<br />
Let us part here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What, shall we never more<br />
Sit hand in hand, as we were wont to sit,<br />
Over some book of ancient chivalry<br />
Stealing a truant holiday from school,<br />
Follow the huntsmen through the autumn woods,<br />
And watch the falcons burst their tasselled jesses,<br />
When the hare breaks from covert.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Never more.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Must I go hence without a word of love?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You must go hence, and may love go with
you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You are unknightly, and ungenerous.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Unknightly and ungenerous if you will.<br />
Why should we waste more words about the matter<br />
Let us part now.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Have you no message, Guido?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">None; my whole past was but a schoolboy’s
dream;<br />
To-day my life begins. Farewell.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ascanio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Farewell [<i>exit slowly</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Now are you satisfied? Have you not
seen<br />
My dearest friend, and my most loved companion,<br />
Thrust from me like a common kitchen knave!<br />
Oh, that I did it! Are you not satisfied?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! I am satisfied. Now I go hence,<br />
Do not forget the sign, your father’s dagger,<br />
And do the business when I send it to you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Be sure I shall. [<i>Exit</i> <span
class="smcap">Lord Moranzone</span>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O thou eternal heaven!<br />
If there is aught of nature in my soul,<br />
Of gentle pity, or fond kindliness,<br />
Wither it up, blast it, bring it to nothing,<br />
Or if thou wilt not, then will I myself<br />
Cut pity with a sharp knife from my heart<br />
And strangle mercy in her sleep at night<br />
Lest she speak to me. Vengeance there I have it.<br />
Be thou my comrade and my bedfellow,<br />
Sit by my side, ride to the chase with me,<br />
When I am weary sing me pretty songs,<br />
When I am light o’ heart, make jest with me,<br />
And when I dream, whisper into my ear<br />
The dreadful secret of a father’s murder—<br />
Did I say murder? [<i>Draws his dagger</i>.]<br />
Listen, thou terrible God!<br />
Thou God that punishest all broken oaths,<br />
And bid some angel write this oath in fire,<br />
That from this hour, till my dear father’s murder<br />
In blood I have revenged, I do forswear<br />
The noble ties of honourable friendship,<br />
The noble joys of dear companionship,<br />
Affection’s bonds, and loyal gratitude,<br />
Ay, more, from this same hour I do forswear<br />
All love of women, and the barren thing<br />
Which men call beauty—</p>
<p>[<i>The organ peals in the Cathedral</i>, <i>and under a
canopy of cloth of silver tissue</i>, <i>borne by four pages in
scarlet</i>, <i>the</i> <span class="smcap">Duchess of
Padua</span> <i>comes down the steps</i>; <i>as she passes across
their eyes meet for a moment</i>, <i>and as she leaves the stage
she looks back at</i> <span class="smcap">Guido</span>, <i>and
the dagger falls from his hand</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Oh! who is that?</p>
<p>A <span class="smcap">Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">The Duchess of Padua!</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">END OF ACT
I.</span></p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<h2>ACT II</h2>
<p style="text-align: center">SCENE</p>
<p><i>A state room in the Ducal Palace</i>, <i>hung with
tapestries representing the Masque of Venus</i>; <i>a large door
in the centre opens into a corridor of red marble</i>, <i>through
which one can see a view of Padua</i>; <i>a large canopy is
set</i> (<i>R.C.</i>) <i>with three thrones</i>, <i>one a little
lower than the others</i>; <i>the ceiling is made of long gilded
beams</i>; <i>furniture of the period</i>, <i>chairs covered with
gilt leather</i>, <i>and buffets set with gold and silver
plate</i>, <i>and chests painted with mythological
scenes</i>. <i>A number of the courtiers is out on the
corridor looking from it down into the street below</i>; <i>from
the street comes the roar of a mob and cries of</i>
‘<i>Death to the Duke</i>’: <i>after a little
interval enter the Duke very calmly</i>; <i>he is leaning on the
arm of Guido Ferranti</i>; <i>with him enters also the Lord
Cardinal</i>; <i>the mob still shouting</i>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, my Lord Cardinal, I weary of her!<br />
Why, she is worse than ugly, she is good.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Maffio</span> [<i>excitedly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Your Grace, there are two thousand people
there<br />
Who every moment grow more clamorous.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Tut, man, they waste their strength upon their
lungs!<br />
People who shout so loud, my lords, do nothing;<br />
The only men I fear are silent men.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>A yell from the people</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">You see, Lord Cardinal, how my people love
me.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Another yell</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Go, Petrucci,<br />
And tell the captain of the guard below<br />
To clear the square. Do you not hear me, sir?<br />
Do what I bid you.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span
class="smcap">Petrucci</span>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cardinal</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I beseech your Grace<br />
To listen to their grievances.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span> [<i>sitting on his
throne</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! the peaches<br />
Are not so big this year as they were last.<br />
I crave your pardon, my lord Cardinal,<br />
I thought you spake of peaches.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>A cheer from the
people</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">What is that?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>rushes to the
window</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">The Duchess has gone forth into the square,<br
/>
And stands between the people and the guard,<br />
And will not let them shoot.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">The devil take her!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>still at the
window</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">And followed by a dozen of the citizens<br />
Has come into the Palace.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span> [<i>starting up</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">By Saint James,<br />
Our Duchess waxes bold!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Bardi</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Here comes the Duchess.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Shut that door there; this morning air is
cold.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>They close the door on the
corridor</i>.]</p>
<p>[<i>Enter the Duchess followed by a crowd of meanly dressed
Citizens</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>flinging herself upon
her knees</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">I do beseech your Grace to give us
audience.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What are these grievances?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Alas, my Lord,<br />
Such common things as neither you nor I,<br />
Nor any of these noble gentlemen,<br />
Have ever need at all to think about;<br />
They say the bread, the very bread they eat,<br />
Is made of sorry chaff.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! so it is,<br />
Nothing but chaff.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And very good food too,<br />
I give it to my horses.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>restraining
herself</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">They say the water,<br />
Set in the public cisterns for their use,<br />
[Has, through the breaking of the aqueduct,]<br />
To stagnant pools and muddy puddles turned.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">They should drink wine; water is quite
unwholesome.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Alack, your Grace, the taxes which the
customs<br />
Take at the city gate are grown so high<br />
We cannot buy wine.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Then you should bless the taxes</p>
<p class="poetry">Which make you temperate.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Think, while we sit<br />
In gorgeous pomp and state, gaunt poverty<br />
Creeps through their sunless lanes, and with sharp knives<br />
Cuts the warm throats of children stealthily<br />
And no word said.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! marry, that is true,<br />
My little son died yesternight from hunger;<br />
He was but six years old; I am so poor,<br />
I cannot bury him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">If you are poor,<br />
Are you not blessed in that? Why, poverty<br />
Is one of the Christian virtues,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Turns to the</i> <span
class="smcap">Cardinal</span>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Is it not?<br />
I know, Lord Cardinal, you have great revenues,<br />
Rich abbey-lands, and tithes, and large estates<br />
For preaching voluntary poverty.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay but, my lord the Duke, be generous;<br />
While we sit here within a noble house<br />
[With shaded porticoes against the sun,<br />
And walls and roofs to keep the winter out],<br />
There are many citizens of Padua<br />
Who in vile tenements live so full of holes,<br />
That the chill rain, the snow, and the rude blast,<br />
Are tenants also with them; others sleep<br />
Under the arches of the public bridges<br />
All through the autumn nights, till the wet mist<br />
Stiffens their limbs, and fevers come, and so—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And so they go to Abraham’s bosom,
Madam.<br />
They should thank me for sending them to Heaven,<br />
If they are wretched here. [<i>To the</i> <span
class="smcap">Cardinal</span>.]<br />
Is it not said<br />
Somewhere in Holy Writ, that every man<br />
Should be contented with that state of life<br />
God calls him to? Why should I change their state,<br />
Or meddle with an all-wise providence,<br />
Which has apportioned that some men should starve,<br />
And others surfeit? I did not make the world.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">He hath a hard heart.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, be silent, neighbour;<br />
I think the Cardinal will speak for us.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cardinal</span></p>
<p class="poetry">True, it is Christian to bear misery,<br />
Yet it is Christian also to be kind,<br />
And there seem many evils in this town,<br />
Which in your wisdom might your Grace reform.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What is that word reform? What does it
mean?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Marry, it means leaving things as they are; I
like it not.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Reform Lord Cardinal, did <i>you</i> say
reform?<br />
There is a man in Germany called Luther,<br />
Who would reform the Holy Catholic Church.<br />
Have you not made him heretic, and uttered<br />
Anathema, maranatha, against him?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cardinal</span> [<i>rising from his
seat</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">He would have led the sheep out of the fold,<br
/>
We do but ask of you to feed the sheep.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">When I have shorn their fleeces I may feed
them.<br />
As for these rebels— [<span
class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>entreats him</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">That is a kind word,<br />
He means to give us something.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Is that so?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">These ragged knaves who come before us here,<br
/>
With mouths chock-full of treason.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Good my Lord,<br />
Fill up our mouths with bread; we’ll hold our tongues.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ye shall hold your tongues, whether you starve
or not.<br />
My lords, this age is so familiar grown,<br />
That the low peasant hardly doffs his hat,<br />
Unless you beat him; and the raw mechanic<br />
Elbows the noble in the public streets.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>To the Citizens</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Still as our gentle Duchess has so prayed
us,<br />
And to refuse so beautiful a beggar<br />
Were to lack both courtesy and love,<br />
Touching your grievances, I promise this—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Marry, he will lighten the taxes!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Or a dole of bread, think you, for each
man?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">That, on next Sunday, the Lord Cardinal<br />
Shall, after Holy Mass, preach you a sermon<br />
Upon the Beauty of Obedience.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Citizens murmur</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I’ faith, that will not fill our
stomachs!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">A sermon is but a sorry sauce, when<br />
You have nothing to eat with it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Poor people,<br />
You see I have no power with the Duke,<br />
But if you go into the court without,<br />
My almoner shall from my private purse,<br />
Divide a hundred ducats ’mongst you all.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">God save the Duchess, say I.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">God save her.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And every Monday morn shall bread be set<br />
For those who lack it.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Citizens applaud and go
out</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span> [<i>going
out</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Why, God save the Duchess again!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span> [<i>calling him back</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Come hither, fellow! what is your name?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Dominick, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">A good name! Why were you called
Dominick?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span> [<i>scratching his
head</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Marry, because I was born on St. George’s
day.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">A good reason! here is a ducat for you!<br />
Will you not cry for me God save the Duke?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span> [<i>feebly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">God save the Duke.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay! louder, fellow, louder.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span> [<i>a little
louder</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">God save the Duke!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">More lustily, fellow, put more heart in it!<br
/>
Here is another ducat for you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span>
[<i>enthusiastically</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">God save the Duke!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span> [<i>mockingly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Why, gentlemen, this simple fellow’s
love<br />
Touches me much. [<i>To the Citizen</i>,
<i>harshly</i>.]<br />
Go! [<i>Exit Citizen</i>, <i>bowing</i>.]<br />
This is the way, my lords,<br />
You can buy popularity nowadays.<br />
Oh, we are nothing if not democratic!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>To the</i> <span
class="smcap">Duchess</span>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Well, Madam,<br />
You spread rebellion ’midst our citizens.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My Lord, the poor have rights you cannot
touch,<br />
The right to pity, and the right to mercy.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">So, so, you argue with me? This is
she,<br />
The gentle Duchess for whose hand I yielded<br />
Three of the fairest towns in Italy,<br />
Pisa, and Genoa, and Orvieto.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Promised, my Lord, not yielded: in that
matter<br />
Brake you your word as ever.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You wrong us, Madam,<br />
There were state reasons.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What state reasons are there<br />
For breaking holy promises to a state?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">There are wild boars at Pisa in a forest<br />
Close to the city: when I promised Pisa<br />
Unto your noble and most trusting father,<br />
I had forgotten there was hunting there.<br />
At Genoa they say,<br />
Indeed I doubt them not, that the red mullet<br />
Runs larger in the harbour of that town<br />
Than anywhere in Italy.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Turning to one of the
Court</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">You, my lord,<br />
Whose gluttonous appetite is your only god,<br />
Could satisfy our Duchess on that point.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And Orvieto?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span> [<i>yawning</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">I cannot now recall<br />
Why I did not surrender Orvieto<br />
According to the word of my contract.<br />
Maybe it was because I did not choose.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes over to the</i> <span
class="smcap">Duchess</span>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Why look you, Madam, you are here alone;<br />
’Tis many a dusty league to your grey France,<br />
And even there your father barely keeps<br />
A hundred ragged squires for his Court.<br />
What hope have you, I say? Which of these lords<br />
And noble gentlemen of Padua<br />
Stands by your side.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">There is not one.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Guido</span>
<i>starts</i>, <i>but restrains himself</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nor shall be,<br />
While I am Duke in Padua: listen, Madam,<br />
Being mine own, you shall do as I will,<br />
And if it be my will you keep the house,<br />
Why then, this palace shall your prison be;<br />
And if it be my will you walk abroad,<br />
Why, you shall take the air from morn to night.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Sir, by what right—?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Madam, my second Duchess<br />
Asked the same question once: her monument<br />
Lies in the chapel of Bartholomew,<br />
Wrought in red marble; very beautiful.<br />
Guido, your arm. Come, gentlemen, let us go<br />
And spur our falcons for the mid-day chase.<br />
Bethink you, Madam, you are here alone.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Exit the</i> <span
class="smcap">Duke</span> <i>leaning on</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span>, <i>with his Court</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>looking after
them</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">The Duke said rightly that I was alone;<br />
Deserted, and dishonoured, and defamed,<br />
Stood ever woman so alone indeed?<br />
Men when they woo us call us pretty children,<br />
Tell us we have not wit to make our lives,<br />
And so they mar them for us. Did I say woo?<br />
We are their chattels, and their common slaves,<br />
Less dear than the poor hound that licks their hand,<br />
Less fondled than the hawk upon their wrist.<br />
Woo, did I say? bought rather, sold and bartered,<br />
Our very bodies being merchandise.<br />
I know it is the general lot of women,<br />
Each miserably mated to some man<br />
Wrecks her own life upon his selfishness:<br />
That it is general makes it not less bitter.<br />
I think I never heard a woman laugh,<br />
Laugh for pure merriment, except one woman,<br />
That was at night time, in the public streets.<br />
Poor soul, she walked with painted lips, and wore<br />
The mask of pleasure: I would not laugh like her;<br />
No, death were better.</p>
<p>[<i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>behind
unobserved</i>; <i>the</i> <span class="smcap">Duchess</span>
<i>flings herself down before a picture of the Madonna</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">O Mary mother, with your sweet pale face<br />
Bending between the little angel heads<br />
That hover round you, have you no help for me?<br />
Mother of God, have you no help for me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I can endure no longer.<br />
This is my love, and I will speak to her.<br />
Lady, am I a stranger to your prayers?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>rising</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">None but the wretched needs my prayers, my
lord.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Then must I need them, lady.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">How is that?<br />
Does not the Duke show thee sufficient honour?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Your Grace, I lack no favours from the Duke,<br
/>
Whom my soul loathes as I loathe wickedness,<br />
But come to proffer on my bended knees,<br />
My loyal service to thee unto death.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Alas! I am so fallen in estate<br />
I can but give thee a poor meed of thanks.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>seizing her hand</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Hast thou no love to give me?</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>The</i> <span
class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>starts</i>, <i>and</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>falls at her feet</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">O dear saint,<br />
If I have been too daring, pardon me!<br />
Thy beauty sets my boyish blood aflame,<br />
And, when my reverent lips touch thy white hand,<br />
Each little nerve with such wild passion thrills<br />
That there is nothing which I would not do<br />
To gain thy love. [<i>Leaps up</i>.]<br />
Bid me reach forth and pluck<br />
Perilous honour from the lion’s jaws,<br />
And I will wrestle with the Nemean beast<br />
On the bare desert! Fling to the cave of War<br />
A gaud, a ribbon, a dead flower, something<br />
That once has touched thee, and I’ll bring it back<br />
Though all the hosts of Christendom were there,<br />
Inviolate again! ay, more than this,<br />
Set me to scale the pallid white-faced cliffs<br />
Of mighty England, and from that arrogant shield<br />
Will I raze out the lilies of your France<br />
Which England, that sea-lion of the sea,<br />
Hath taken from her!<br />
O dear Beatrice,<br />
Drive me not from thy presence! without thee<br />
The heavy minutes crawl with feet of lead,<br />
But, while I look upon thy loveliness,<br />
The hours fly like winged Mercuries<br />
And leave existence golden.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I did not think<br />
I should be ever loved: do you indeed<br />
Love me so much as now you say you do?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ask of the sea-bird if it loves the sea,<br />
Ask of the roses if they love the rain,<br />
Ask of the little lark, that will not sing<br />
Till day break, if it loves to see the day:—<br />
And yet, these are but empty images,<br />
Mere shadows of my love, which is a fire<br />
So great that all the waters of the main<br />
Can not avail to quench it. Will you not speak?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I hardly know what I should say to you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Will you not say you love me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Is that my lesson?<br />
Must I say all at once? ’Twere a good lesson<br />
If I did love you, sir; but, if I do not,<br />
What shall I say then?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">If you do not love me,<br />
Say, none the less, you do, for on your tongue<br />
Falsehood for very shame would turn to truth.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What if I do not speak at all? They
say<br />
Lovers are happiest when they are in doubt</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, doubt would kill me, and if I must die,<br
/>
Why, let me die for joy and not for doubt.<br />
Oh, tell me may I stay, or must I go?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I would not have you either stay or go;<br />
For if you stay you steal my love from me,<br />
And if you go you take my love away.<br />
Guido, though all the morning stars could sing<br />
They could not tell the measure of my love.<br />
I love you, Guido.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>stretching out his
hands</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, do not cease at all;<br />
I thought the nightingale sang but at night;<br />
Or if thou needst must cease, then let my lips<br />
Touch the sweet lips that can such music make.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">To touch my lips is not to touch my heart.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Do you close that against me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Alas! my lord,<br />
I have it not: the first day that I saw you<br />
I let you take my heart away from me;<br />
Unwilling thief, that without meaning it<br />
Did break into my fenced treasury<br />
And filch my jewel from it! O strange theft,<br />
Which made you richer though you knew it not,<br />
And left me poorer, and yet glad of it!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>clasping her in his
arms</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">O love, love, love! Nay, sweet, lift up
your head,<br />
Let me unlock those little scarlet doors<br />
That shut in music, let me dive for coral<br />
In your red lips, and I’ll bear back a prize<br />
Richer than all the gold the Gryphon guards<br />
In rude Armenia.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You are my lord,<br />
And what I have is yours, and what I have not<br />
Your fancy lends me, like a prodigal<br />
Spending its wealth on what is nothing worth.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Kisses him</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Methinks I am bold to look upon you thus:<br />
The gentle violet hides beneath its leaf<br />
And is afraid to look at the great sun<br />
For fear of too much splendour, but my eyes,<br />
O daring eyes! are grown so venturous<br />
That like fixed stars they stand, gazing at you,<br />
And surfeit sense with beauty.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Dear love, I would<br />
You could look upon me ever, for your eyes<br />
Are polished mirrors, and when I peer<br />
Into those mirrors I can see myself,<br />
And so I know my image lives in you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>taking her in his
arms</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Stand still, thou hurrying orb in the high
heavens,<br />
And make this hour immortal! [<i>A pause</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Sit down here,<br />
A little lower than me: yes, just so, sweet,<br />
That I may run my fingers through your hair,<br />
And see your face turn upwards like a flower<br />
To meet my kiss.<br />
Have you not sometimes noted,<br />
When we unlock some long-disuséd room<br />
With heavy dust and soiling mildew filled,<br />
Where never foot of man has come for years,<br />
And from the windows take the rusty bar,<br />
And fling the broken shutters to the air,<br />
And let the bright sun in, how the good sun<br />
Turns every grimy particle of dust<br />
Into a little thing of dancing gold?<br />
Guido, my heart is that long-empty room,<br />
But you have let love in, and with its gold<br />
Gilded all life. Do you not think that love<br />
Fills up the sum of life?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! without love<br />
Life is no better than the unhewn stone<br />
Which in the quarry lies, before the sculptor<br />
Has set the God within it. Without love<br />
Life is as silent as the common reeds<br />
That through the marshes or by rivers grow,<br />
And have no music in them.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Yet out of these<br />
The singer, who is Love, will make a pipe<br />
And from them he draws music; so I think<br />
Love will bring music out of any life.<br />
Is that not true?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Sweet, women make it true.<br />
There are men who paint pictures, and carve statues,<br />
Paul of Verona and the dyer’s son,<br />
Or their great rival, who, by the sea at Venice,<br />
Has set God’s little maid upon the stair,<br />
White as her own white lily, and as tall,<br />
Or Raphael, whose Madonnas are divine<br />
Because they are mothers merely; yet I think<br />
Women are the best artists of the world,<br />
For they can take the common lives of men<br />
Soiled with the money-getting of our age,<br />
And with love make them beautiful.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ah, dear,<br />
I wish that you and I were very poor;<br />
The poor, who love each other, are so rich.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Tell me again you love me, Beatrice.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>fingering his
collar</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">How well this collar lies about your
throat.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<span class="smcap">Lord
Moranzone</span> <i>looks through the door from the corridor
outside</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, tell me that you love me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I remember,<br />
That when I was a child in my dear France,<br />
Being at Court at Fontainebleau, the King<br />
Wore such a collar.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Will you not say you love me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>smiling</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">He was a very royal man, King Francis,<br />
Yet he was not royal as you are.<br />
Why need I tell you, Guido, that I love you?</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Takes his head in her hands and
turns his face up to her</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Do you not know that I am yours for ever,<br />
Body and soul?</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Kisses him</i>, <i>and then
suddenly catches sight of</i> <span
class="smcap">Moranzone</span> <i>and leaps up</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, what is that? [<span
class="smcap">Moranzone</span> <i>disappears</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What, love?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Methought I saw a face with eyes of flame<br />
Look at us through the doorway.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, ’twas nothing:<br />
The passing shadow of the man on guard.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>The</i> <span
class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>still stands looking at the
window</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">’Twas nothing, sweet.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! what can harm us now,<br />
Who are in Love’s hand? I do not think I’d
care<br />
Though the vile world should with its lackey Slander<br />
Trample and tread upon my life; why should I?<br />
They say the common field-flowers of the field<br />
Have sweeter scent when they are trodden on<br />
Than when they bloom alone, and that some herbs<br />
Which have no perfume, on being bruiséd die<br />
With all Arabia round them; so it is<br />
With the young lives this dull world seeks to crush,<br />
It does but bring the sweetness out of them,<br />
And makes them lovelier often. And besides,<br />
While we have love we have the best of life:<br />
Is it not so?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Dear, shall we play or sing?<br />
I think that I could sing now.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Do not speak,<br />
For there are times when all existences<br />
Seem narrowed to one single ecstasy,<br />
And Passion sets a seal upon the lips.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, with mine own lips let me break that
seal!<br />
You love me, Beatrice?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! is it not strange<br />
I should so love mine enemy?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Who is he?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, you: that with your shaft did pierce my
heart!<br />
Poor heart, that lived its little lonely life<br />
Until it met your arrow.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ah, dear love,<br />
I am so wounded by that bolt myself<br />
That with untended wounds I lie a-dying,<br />
Unless you cure me, dear Physician.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I would not have you cured; for I am sick<br />
With the same malady.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, how I love you!<br />
See, I must steal the cuckoo’s voice, and tell<br />
The one tale over.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Tell no other tale!<br />
For, if that is the little cuckoo’s song,<br />
The nightingale is hoarse, and the loud lark<br />
Has lost its music.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Kiss me, Beatrice!</p>
<p>[<i>She takes his face in her hands and bends down and kisses
him</i>; <i>a loud knocking then comes at the door</i>,
<i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>leaps up</i>;
<i>enter a Servant</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Servant</span></p>
<p class="poetry">A package for you, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>carelessly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Ah! give it to me.</p>
<p class="poetry">[<i>Servant hands package wrapped in vermilion
silk</i>, <i>and exit</i>; <i>as</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>is about to open it the</i> <span
class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>comes up behind</i>, <i>and in
sport takes it from him</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>laughing</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Now I will wager it is from some girl<br />
Who would have you wear her favour; I am so jealous<br />
I will not give up the least part in you,<br />
But like a miser keep you to myself,<br />
And spoil you perhaps in keeping.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It is nothing.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, it is from some girl.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You know ’tis not.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>turns her back and
opens it</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Now, traitor, tell me what does this sign
mean,<br />
A dagger with two leopards wrought in steel?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>taking it from
her</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">O God!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I’ll from the window look, and try<br />
If I can’t see the porter’s livery<br />
Who left it at the gate! I will not rest<br />
Till I have learned your secret.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Runs laughing into the
corridor</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, horrible!<br />
Had I so soon forgot my father’s death,<br />
Did I so soon let love into my heart,<br />
And must I banish love, and let in murder<br />
That beats and clamours at the outer gate?<br />
Ay, that I must! Have I not sworn an oath?<br />
Yet not to-night; nay, it must be to-night.<br />
Farewell then all the joy and light of life,<br />
All dear recorded memories, farewell,<br />
Farewell all love! Could I with bloody hands<br />
Fondle and paddle with her innocent hands?<br />
Could I with lips fresh from this butchery<br />
Play with her lips? Could I with murderous eyes<br />
Look in those violet eyes, whose purity<br />
Would strike men blind, and make each eyeball reel<br />
In night perpetual? No, murder has set<br />
A barrier between us far too high<br />
For us to kiss across it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guido!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Beatrice,<br />
You must forget that name, and banish me<br />
Out of your life for ever.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>going towards
him</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">O dear love!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>stepping back</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">There lies a barrier between us two<br />
We dare not pass.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I dare do anything<br />
So that you are beside me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ah! There it is,<br />
I cannot be beside you, cannot breathe<br />
The air you breathe; I cannot any more<br />
Stand face to face with beauty, which unnerves<br />
My shaking heart, and makes my desperate hand<br />
Fail of its purpose. Let me go hence, I pray;<br />
Forget you ever looked upon me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What!<br />
With your hot kisses fresh upon my lips<br />
Forget the vows of love you made to me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I take them back.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Alas, you cannot, Guido,<br />
For they are part of nature now; the air<br />
Is tremulous with their music, and outside<br />
The little birds sing sweeter for those vows.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">There lies a barrier between us now,<br />
Which then I knew not, or I had forgot.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">There is no barrier, Guido; why, I will go<br
/>
In poor attire, and will follow you<br />
Over the world.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>wildly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">The world’s not wide enough<br />
To hold us two! Farewell, farewell for ever.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>calm</i>, <i>and
controlling her passion</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Why did you come into my life at all, then,<br
/>
Or in the desolate garden of my heart<br />
Sow that white flower of love—?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O Beatrice!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Which now you would dig up, uproot, tear
out,<br />
Though each small fibre doth so hold my heart<br />
That if you break one, my heart breaks with it?<br />
Why did you come into my life? Why open<br />
The secret wells of love I had sealed up?<br />
Why did you open them—?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O God!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>clenching her
hand</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">And let<br />
The floodgates of my passion swell and burst<br />
Till, like the wave when rivers overflow<br />
That sweeps the forest and the farm away,<br />
Love in the splendid avalanche of its might<br />
Swept my life with it? Must I drop by drop<br />
Gather these waters back and seal them up?<br />
Alas! Each drop will be a tear, and so<br />
Will with its saltness make life very bitter.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I pray you speak no more, for I must go<br />
Forth from your life and love, and make a way<br />
On which you cannot follow.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I have heard<br />
That sailors dying of thirst upon a raft,<br />
Poor castaways upon a lonely sea,<br />
Dream of green fields and pleasant water-courses,<br />
And then wake up with red thirst in their throats,<br />
And die more miserably because sleep<br />
Has cheated them: so they die cursing sleep<br />
For having sent them dreams: I will not curse you<br />
Though I am cast away upon the sea<br />
Which men call Desolation.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O God, God!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">But you will stay: listen, I love you,
Guido.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>She waits a little</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Is echo dead, that when I say I love you<br />
There is no answer?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Everything is dead,<br />
Save one thing only, which shall die to-night!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">If you are going, touch me not, but go.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Barrier! Barrier!<br />
Why did he say there was a barrier?<br />
There is no barrier between us two.<br />
He lied to me, and shall I for that reason<br />
Loathe what I love, and what I worshipped, hate?<br />
I think we women do not love like that.<br />
For if I cut his image from my heart,<br />
My heart would, like a bleeding pilgrim, follow<br />
That image through the world, and call it back<br />
With little cries of love.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Enter</i> <span
class="smcap">Duke</span> <i>equipped for the chase</i>, <i>with
falconers and hounds</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Madam, you keep us waiting;<br />
You keep my dogs waiting.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I will not ride to-day.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">How now, what’s this?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My Lord, I cannot go.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What, pale face, do you dare to stand against
me?<br />
Why, I could set you on a sorry jade<br />
And lead you through the town, till the low rabble<br />
You feed toss up their hats and mock at you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Have you no word of kindness ever for me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I hold you in the hollow of my hand<br />
And have no need on you to waste kind words.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Well, I will go.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span> [<i>slapping his boot with his
whip</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">No, I have changed my mind,<br />
You will stay here, and like a faithful wife<br />
Watch from the window for our coming back.<br />
Were it not dreadful if some accident<br />
By chance should happen to your loving Lord?<br />
Come, gentlemen, my hounds begin to chafe,<br />
And I chafe too, having a patient wife.<br />
Where is young Guido?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Maffio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My liege, I have not seen him<br />
For a full hour past.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duke</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It matters not,<br />
I dare say I shall see him soon enough.<br />
Well, Madam, you will sit at home and spin.<br />
I do protest, sirs, the domestic virtues<br />
Are often very beautiful in others.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i> <span
class="smcap">Duke</span> <i>with his Court</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">The stars have fought against me, that is
all,<br />
And thus to-night when my Lord lieth asleep,<br />
Will I fall upon my dagger, and so cease.<br />
My heart is such a stone nothing can reach it<br />
Except the dagger’s edge: let it go there,<br />
To find what name it carries: ay! to-night<br />
Death will divorce the Duke; and yet to-night<br />
He may die also, he is very old.<br />
Why should he not die? Yesterday his hand<br />
Shook with a palsy: men have died from palsy,<br />
And why not he? Are there not fevers also,<br />
Agues and chills, and other maladies<br />
Most incident to old age?<br />
No, no, he will not die, he is too sinful;<br />
Honest men die before their proper time.<br />
Good men will die: men by whose side the Duke<br />
In all the sick pollution of his life<br />
Seems like a leper: women and children die,<br />
But the Duke will not die, he is too sinful.<br />
Oh, can it be<br />
There is some immortality in sin,<br />
Which virtue has not? And does the wicked man<br />
Draw life from what to other men were death,<br />
Like poisonous plants that on corruption live?<br />
No, no, I think God would not suffer that:<br />
Yet the Duke will not die: he is too sinful.<br />
But I will die alone, and on this night<br />
Grim Death shall be my bridegroom, and the tomb<br />
My secret house of pleasure: well, what of that?<br />
The world’s a graveyard, and we each, like coffins,<br />
Within us bear a skeleton.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Enter</i> <span
class="smcap">Lord Moranzone</span> <i>all in black</i>; <i>he
passes across the back of the stage looking anxiously
about</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Where is Guido?<br />
I cannot find him anywhere.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>catches sight of
him</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">O God!<br />
’Twas thou who took my love away from me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>with a look of
joy</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">What, has he left you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, you know he has.<br />
Oh, give him back to me, give him back, I say,<br />
Or I will tear your body limb from limb,<br />
And to the common gibbet nail your head<br />
Until the carrion crows have stripped it bare.<br />
Better you had crossed a hungry lioness<br />
Before you came between me and my love.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>With more pathos</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, give him back, you know not how I love
him.<br />
Here by this chair he knelt a half hour since;<br />
’Twas there he stood, and there he looked at me;<br />
This is the hand he kissed, and these the ears<br />
Into whose open portals he did pour<br />
A tale of love so musical that all<br />
The birds stopped singing! Oh, give him back to me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">He does not love you, Madam.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">May the plague<br />
Wither the tongue that says so! Give him back.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Madam, I tell you you will never see him,<br />
Neither to-night, nor any other night.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What is your name?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My name? Revenge!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Revenge!<br />
I think I never harmed a little child.<br />
What should Revenge do coming to my door?<br />
It matters not, for Death is there already,<br />
Waiting with his dim torch to light my way.<br />
’Tis true men hate thee, Death, and yet I think<br />
Thou wilt be kinder to me than my lover,<br />
And so dispatch the messengers at once,<br />
Harry the lazy steeds of lingering day,<br />
And let the night, thy sister, come instead,<br />
And drape the world in mourning; let the owl,<br />
Who is thy minister, scream from his tower<br />
And wake the toad with hooting, and the bat,<br />
That is the slave of dim Persephone,<br />
Wheel through the sombre air on wandering wing!<br />
Tear up the shrieking mandrakes from the earth<br />
And bid them make us music, and tell the mole<br />
To dig deep down thy cold and narrow bed,<br />
For I shall lie within thine arms to-night.</p>
<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span
class="GutSmall">END OF ACT II.</span></p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<h2>ACT III</h2>
<p style="text-align: center">SCENE</p>
<p><i>A large corridor in the Ducal Palace</i>: <i>a window</i>
(<i>L.C.</i>) <i>looks out on a view of Padua by moonlight</i>:
<i>a staircase</i> (<i>R.C.</i>) <i>leads up to a door with a
portière of crimson velvet</i>, <i>with the Duke’s
arms embroidered in gold on it</i>: <i>on the lowest step of the
staircase a figure draped in black is sitting</i>: <i>the hall is
lit by an iron cresset filled with burning tow</i>: <i>thunder
and lightning outside</i>: <i>the time is night</i>.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Enter</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>through the window</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">The wind is rising: how my ladder shook!<br />
I thought that every gust would break the cords!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Looks out at the city</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Christ! What a night:<br />
Great thunder in the heavens, and wild lightnings<br />
Striking from pinnacle to pinnacle<br />
Across the city, till the dim houses seem<br />
To shudder and to shake as each new glare<br />
Dashes adown the street.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Passes across the stage to foot
of staircase</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Ah! who art thou<br />
That sittest on the stair, like unto Death<br />
Waiting a guilty soul? [<i>A pause</i>.]<br />
Canst thou not speak?<br />
Or has this storm laid palsy on thy tongue,<br />
And chilled thy utterance?</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>The figure rises and takes off
his mask</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guido Ferranti,<br />
Thy murdered father laughs for joy to-night.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>confusedly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">What, art thou here?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, waiting for your coming.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>looking away from
him</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">I did not think to see you, but am glad,<br />
That you may know the thing I mean to do.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">First, I would have you know my well-laid
plans;<br />
Listen: I have set horses at the gate<br />
Which leads to Parma: when you have done your business<br />
We will ride hence, and by to-morrow night—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It cannot be.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, but it shall.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Listen, Lord Moranzone,<br />
I am resolved not to kill this man.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Surely my ears are traitors, speak again:<br />
It cannot be but age has dulled my powers,<br />
I am an old man now: what did you say?<br />
You said that with that dagger in your belt<br />
You would avenge your father’s bloody murder;<br />
Did you not say that?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, my lord, I said<br />
I was resolved not to kill the Duke.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You said not that; it is my senses mock me;<br
/>
Or else this midnight air o’ercharged with storm<br />
Alters your message in the giving it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, you heard rightly; I’ll not kill
this man.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What of thine oath, thou traitor, what of thine
oath?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I am resolved not to keep that oath.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What of thy murdered father?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Dost thou think<br />
My father would be glad to see me coming,<br />
This old man’s blood still hot upon mine hands?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! he would laugh for joy.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I do not think so,<br />
There is better knowledge in the other world;<br />
Vengeance is God’s, let God himself revenge.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou art God’s minister of vengeance.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No!<br />
God hath no minister but his own hand.<br />
I will not kill this man.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why are you here,<br />
If not to kill him, then?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Lord Moranzone,<br />
I purpose to ascend to the Duke’s chamber,<br />
And as he lies asleep lay on his breast<br />
The dagger and this writing; when he awakes<br />
Then he will know who held him in his power<br />
And slew him not: this is the noblest vengeance<br />
Which I can take.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You will not slay him?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ignoble son of a noble father,<br />
Who sufferest this man who sold that father<br />
To live an hour.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">’Twas thou that hindered me;<br />
I would have killed him in the open square,<br />
The day I saw him first.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It was not yet time;<br />
Now it is time, and, like some green-faced girl,<br />
Thou pratest of forgiveness.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No! revenge:<br />
The right revenge my father’s son should take.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You are a coward,<br />
Take out the knife, get to the Duke’s chamber,<br />
And bring me back his heart upon the blade.<br />
When he is dead, then you can talk to me<br />
Of noble vengeances.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Upon thine honour,<br />
And by the love thou bearest my father’s name,<br />
Dost thou think my father, that great gentleman,<br />
That generous soldier, that most chivalrous lord,<br />
Would have crept at night-time, like a common thief,<br />
And stabbed an old man sleeping in his bed,<br />
However he had wronged him: tell me that.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p>[after some hesitation]</p>
<p class="poetry">You have sworn an oath, see that you keep that
oath.<br />
Boy, do you think I do not know your secret,<br />
Your traffic with the Duchess?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Silence, liar!<br />
The very moon in heaven is not more chaste.<br />
Nor the white stars so pure.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And yet, you love her;<br />
Weak fool, to let love in upon your life,<br />
Save as a plaything.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You do well to talk:<br />
Within your veins, old man, the pulse of youth<br />
Throbs with no ardour. Your eyes full of rheum<br />
Have against Beauty closed their filmy doors,<br />
And your clogged ears, losing their natural sense,<br />
Have shut you from the music of the world.<br />
You talk of love! You know not what it is.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, in my time, boy, have I walked i’ the
moon,<br />
Swore I would live on kisses and on blisses,<br />
Swore I would die for love, and did not die,<br />
Wrote love bad verses; ay, and sung them badly,<br />
Like all true lovers: Oh, I have done the tricks!<br />
I know the partings and the chamberings;<br />
We are all animals at best, and love<br />
Is merely passion with a holy name.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Now then I know you have not loved at all.<br
/>
Love is the sacrament of life; it sets<br />
Virtue where virtue was not; cleanses men<br />
Of all the vile pollutions of this world;<br />
It is the fire which purges gold from dross,<br />
It is the fan which winnows wheat from chaff,<br />
It is the spring which in some wintry soil<br />
Makes innocence to blossom like a rose.<br />
The days are over when God walked with men,<br />
But Love, which is his image, holds his place.<br />
When a man loves a woman, then he knows<br />
God’s secret, and the secret of the world.<br />
There is no house so lowly or so mean,<br />
Which, if their hearts be pure who live in it,<br />
Love will not enter; but if bloody murder<br />
Knock at the Palace gate and is let in,<br />
Love like a wounded thing creeps out and dies.<br />
This is the punishment God sets on sin.<br />
The wicked cannot love.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>A groan comes from the</i>
<span class="smcap">Duke’s</span> <i>chamber</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Ah! What is that?<br />
Do you not hear? ’Twas nothing.<br />
So I think<br />
That it is woman’s mission by their love<br />
To save the souls of men: and loving her,<br />
My Lady, my white Beatrice, I begin<br />
To see a nobler and a holier vengeance<br />
In letting this man live, than doth reside<br />
In bloody deeds o’ night, stabs in the dark,<br />
And young hands clutching at a palsied throat.<br />
It was, I think, for love’s sake that Lord Christ,<br />
Who was indeed himself incarnate Love,<br />
Bade every man forgive his enemy.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>sneeringly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">That was in Palestine, not Padua;<br />
And said for saints: I have to do with men.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It was for all time said.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And your white Duchess,<br />
What will she do to thank you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Alas, I will not see her face again.<br />
’Tis but twelve hours since I parted from her,<br />
So suddenly, and with such violent passion,<br />
That she has shut her heart against me now:<br />
No, I will never see her.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What will you do?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">After that I have laid the dagger there,<br />
Get hence to-night from Padua.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And then?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I will take service with the Doge at Venice,<br
/>
And bid him pack me straightway to the wars,<br />
And there I will, being now sick of life,<br />
Throw that poor life against some desperate spear.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>A groan from the</i> <span
class="smcap">Duke’s</span> <i>chamber again</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Did you not hear a voice?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I always hear,<br />
From the dim confines of some sepulchre,<br />
A voice that cries for vengeance. We waste time,<br />
It will be morning soon; are you resolved<br />
You will not kill the Duke?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I am resolved.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O wretched father, lying unavenged.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">More wretched, were thy son a murderer.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, what is life?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I do not know, my lord,<br />
I did not give it, and I dare not take it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I do not thank God often; but I think<br />
I thank him now that I have got no son!<br />
And you, what bastard blood flows in your veins<br />
That when you have your enemy in your grasp<br />
You let him go! I would that I had left you<br />
With the dull hinds that reared you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Better perhaps<br />
That you had done so! May be better still<br />
I’d not been born to this distressful world.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Farewell!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Farewell! Some day, Lord Moranzone,<br />
You will understand my vengeance.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Never, boy.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Gets out of window and exit by
rope ladder</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Father, I think thou knowest my resolve,<br />
And with this nobler vengeance art content.<br />
Father, I think in letting this man live<br />
That I am doing what thou wouldst have done.<br />
Father, I know not if a human voice<br />
Can pierce the iron gateway of the dead,<br />
Or if the dead are set in ignorance<br />
Of what we do, or do not, for their sakes.<br />
And yet I feel a presence in the air,<br />
There is a shadow standing at my side,<br />
And ghostly kisses seem to touch my lips,<br />
And leave them holier. [<i>Kneels down</i>.]<br />
O father, if ’tis thou,<br />
Canst thou not burst through the decrees of death,<br />
And if corporeal semblance show thyself,<br />
That I may touch thy hand!<br />
No, there is nothing. [<i>Rises</i>.]<br />
’Tis the night that cheats us with its phantoms,<br />
And, like a puppet-master, makes us think<br />
That things are real which are not. It grows late.<br />
Now must I to my business.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Pulls out a letter from his
doublet and reads it</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">When he wakes,<br />
And sees this letter, and the dagger with it,<br />
Will he not have some loathing for his life,<br />
Repent, perchance, and lead a better life,<br />
Or will he mock because a young man spared<br />
His natural enemy? I do not care.<br />
Father, it is thy bidding that I do,<br />
Thy bidding, and the bidding of my love<br />
Which teaches me to know thee as thou art.</p>
<p>[<i>Ascends staircase stealthily</i>, <i>and just as he
reaches out his hand to draw back the curtain the Duchess appears
all in white</i>. <span class="smcap">Guido</span>
<i>starts back</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guido! what do you here so late?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O white and spotless angel of my life,<br />
Sure thou hast come from Heaven with a message<br />
That mercy is more noble than revenge?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">There is no barrier between us now.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">None, love, nor shall be.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I have seen to that.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Tarry here for me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, you are not going?<br />
You will not leave me as you did before?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I will return within a moment’s space,<br
/>
But first I must repair to the Duke’s chamber,<br />
And leave this letter and this dagger there,<br />
That when he wakes—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">When who wakes?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, the Duke.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">He will not wake again.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What, is he dead?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! he is dead.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O God! how wonderful<br />
Are all thy secret ways! Who would have said<br />
That on this very night, when I had yielded<br />
Into thy hands the vengeance that is thine,<br />
Thou with thy finger wouldst have touched the man,<br />
And bade him come before thy judgment seat.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I have just killed him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>in horror</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">He was asleep;<br />
Come closer, love, and I will tell you all.<br />
I had resolved to kill myself to-night.<br />
About an hour ago I waked from sleep,<br />
And took my dagger from beneath my pillow,<br />
Where I had hidden it to serve my need,<br />
And drew it from the sheath, and felt the edge,<br />
And thought of you, and how I loved you, Guido,<br />
And turned to fall upon it, when I marked<br />
The old man sleeping, full of years and sin;<br />
There lay he muttering curses in his sleep,<br />
And as I looked upon his evil face<br />
Suddenly like a flame there flashed across me,<br />
There is the barrier which Guido spoke of:<br />
You said there lay a barrier between us,<br />
What barrier but he?—<br />
I hardly know<br />
What happened, but a steaming mist of blood<br />
Rose up between us two.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, horrible!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And then he groaned,<br />
And then he groaned no more! I only heard<br />
The dripping of the blood upon the floor.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Enough, enough.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Will you not kiss me now?<br />
Do you remember saying that women’s love<br />
Turns men to angels? well, the love of man<br />
Turns women into martyrs; for its sake<br />
We do or suffer anything.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O God!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Will you not speak?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I cannot speak at all.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Let as not talk of this! Let us go
hence:<br />
Is not the barrier broken down between us?<br />
What would you more? Come, it is almost morning.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Puts her hand on</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido’s</span>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>breaking from
her</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">O damned saint! O angel fresh from
Hell!<br />
What bloody devil tempted thee to this!<br />
That thou hast killed thy husband, that is nothing—<br />
Hell was already gaping for his soul—<br />
But thou hast murdered Love, and in its place<br />
Hast set a horrible and bloodstained thing,<br />
Whose very breath breeds pestilence and plague,<br />
And strangles Love.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>in amazed
wonder</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">I did it all for you.<br />
I would not have you do it, had you willed it,<br />
For I would keep you without blot or stain,<br />
A thing unblemished, unassailed, untarnished.<br />
Men do not know what women do for love.<br />
Have I not wrecked my soul for your dear sake,<br />
Here and hereafter?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, do not touch me,<br />
Between us lies a thin red stream of blood;<br />
I dare not look across it: when you stabbed him<br />
You stabbed Love with a sharp knife to the heart.<br />
We cannot meet again.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>wringing her
hands</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">For you! For you!<br />
I did it all for you: have you forgotten?<br />
You said there was a barrier between us;<br />
That barrier lies now i’ the upper chamber<br />
Upset, overthrown, beaten, and battered down,<br />
And will not part us ever.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, you mistook:<br />
Sin was the barrier, you have raised it up;<br />
Crime was the barrier, you have set it there.<br />
The barrier was murder, and your hand<br />
Has builded it so high it shuts out heaven,<br />
It shuts out God.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I did it all for you;<br />
You dare not leave me now: nay, Guido, listen.<br />
Get horses ready, we will fly to-night.<br />
The past is a bad dream, we will forget it:<br />
Before us lies the future: shall we not have<br />
Sweet days of love beneath our vines and laugh?—<br />
No, no, we will not laugh, but, when we weep,<br />
Well, we will weep together; I will serve you;<br />
I will be very meek and very gentle:<br />
You do not know me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, I know you now;<br />
Get hence, I say, out of my sight.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>pacing up and
down</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">O God,<br />
How I have loved this man!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You never loved me.<br />
Had it been so, Love would have stayed your hand.<br />
How could we sit together at Love’s table?<br />
You have poured poison in the sacred wine,<br />
And Murder dips his fingers in the sop.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>throws herself on her
knees</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Then slay me now! I have spilt blood
to-night,<br />
You shall spill more, so we go hand in hand<br />
To heaven or to hell. Draw your sword, Guido.<br />
Quick, let your soul go chambering in my heart,<br />
It will but find its master’s image there.<br />
Nay, if you will not slay me with your sword,<br />
Bid me to fall upon this reeking knife,<br />
And I will do it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>wresting knife from
her</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Give it to me, I say.<br />
O God, your very hands are wet with blood!<br />
This place is Hell, I cannot tarry here.<br />
I pray you let me see your face no more.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Better for me I had not seen your face.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<span class="smcap">Guido</span>
<i>recoils</i>: <i>she seizes his hands as she kneels</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, Guido, listen for a while:<br />
Until you came to Padua I lived<br />
Wretched indeed, but with no murderous thought,<br />
Very submissive to a cruel Lord,<br />
Very obedient to unjust commands,<br />
As pure I think as any gentle girl<br />
Who now would turn in horror from my hands—</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Stands up</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">You came: ah! Guido, the first kindly
words<br />
I ever heard since I had come from France<br />
Were from your lips: well, well, that is no matter.<br />
You came, and in the passion of your eyes<br />
I read love’s meaning; everything you said<br />
Touched my dumb soul to music, so I loved you.<br />
And yet I did not tell you of my love.<br />
’Twas you who sought me out, knelt at my feet<br />
As I kneel now at yours, and with sweet vows,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Kneels</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Whose music seems to linger in my ears,<br />
Swore that you loved me, and I trusted you.<br />
I think there are many women in the world<br />
Who would have tempted you to kill the man.<br />
I did not.<br />
Yet I know that had I done so,<br />
I had not been thus humbled in the dust,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Stands up</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">But you had loved me very faithfully.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>After a pause approaches him
timidly</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">I do not think you understand me, Guido:<br />
It was for your sake that I wrought this deed<br />
Whose horror now chills my young blood to ice,<br />
For your sake only. [<i>Stretching out her arm</i>.]<br />
Will you not speak to me?<br />
Love me a little: in my girlish life<br />
I have been starved for love, and kindliness<br />
Has passed me by.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I dare not look at you:<br />
You come to me with too pronounced a favour;<br />
Get to your tirewomen.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, there it is!<br />
There speaks the man! yet had you come to me<br />
With any heavy sin upon your soul,<br />
Some murder done for hire, not for love,<br />
Why, I had sat and watched at your bedside<br />
All through the night-time, lest Remorse might come<br />
And pour his poisons in your ear, and so<br />
Keep you from sleeping! Sure it is the guilty,<br />
Who, being very wretched, need love most.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">There is no love where there is any guilt.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No love where there is any guilt! O
God,<br />
How differently do we love from men!<br />
There is many a woman here in Padua,<br />
Some workman’s wife, or ruder artisan’s,<br />
Whose husband spends the wages of the week<br />
In a coarse revel, or a tavern brawl,<br />
And reeling home late on the Saturday night,<br />
Finds his wife sitting by a fireless hearth,<br />
Trying to hush the child who cries for hunger,<br />
And then sets to and beats his wife because<br />
The child is hungry, and the fire black.<br />
Yet the wife loves him! and will rise next day<br />
With some red bruise across a careworn face,<br />
And sweep the house, and do the common service,<br />
And try and smile, and only be too glad<br />
If he does not beat her a second time<br />
Before her child!—that is how women love.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>A pause</i>: <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>says nothing</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">I think you will not drive me from your
side.<br />
Where have I got to go if you reject me?—<br />
You for whose sake this hand has murdered life,<br />
You for whose sake my soul has wrecked itself<br />
Beyond all hope of pardon.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Get thee gone:<br />
The dead man is a ghost, and our love too,<br />
Flits like a ghost about its desolate tomb,<br />
And wanders through this charnel house, and weeps<br />
That when you slew your lord you slew it also.<br />
Do you not see?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I see when men love women<br />
They give them but a little of their lives,<br />
But women when they love give everything;<br />
I see that, Guido, now.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Away, away,<br />
And come not back till you have waked your dead.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I would to God that I could wake the dead,<br
/>
Put vision in the glazéd eves, and give<br />
The tongue its natural utterance, and bid<br />
The heart to beat again: that cannot be:<br />
For what is done, is done: and what is dead<br />
Is dead for ever: the fire cannot warm him:<br />
The winter cannot hurt him with its snows;<br />
Something has gone from him; if you call him now,<br />
He will not answer; if you mock him now,<br />
He will not laugh; and if you stab him now<br />
He will not bleed.<br />
I would that I could wake him!<br />
O God, put back the sun a little space,<br />
And from the roll of time blot out to-night,<br />
And bid it not have been! Put back the sun,<br />
And make me what I was an hour ago!<br />
No, no, time will not stop for anything,<br />
Nor the sun stay its courses, though Repentance<br />
Calling it back grow hoarse; but you, my love,<br />
Have you no word of pity even for me?<br />
O Guido, Guido, will you not kiss me once?<br />
Drive me not to some desperate resolve:<br />
Women grow mad when they are treated thus:<br />
Will you not kiss me once?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>holding up knife</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">I will not kiss you<br />
Until the blood grows dry upon this knife,<br />
[<i>Wildly</i>] Back to your dead!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>going up the
stairs</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Why, then I will be gone! and may you find<br
/>
More mercy than you showed to me to-night!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Let me find mercy when I go at night<br />
And do foul murder.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>coming down a few
steps</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Murder did you say?<br />
Murder is hungry, and still cries for more,<br />
And Death, his brother, is not satisfied,<br />
But walks the house, and will not go away,<br />
Unless he has a comrade! Tarry, Death,<br />
For I will give thee a most faithful lackey<br />
To travel with thee! Murder, call no more,<br />
For thou shalt eat thy fill.<br />
There is a storm<br />
Will break upon this house before the morning,<br />
So horrible, that the white moon already<br />
Turns grey and sick with terror, the low wind<br />
Goes moaning round the house, and the high stars<br />
Run madly through the vaulted firmament,<br />
As though the night wept tears of liquid fire<br />
For what the day shall look upon. Oh, weep,<br />
Thou lamentable heaven! Weep thy fill!<br />
Though sorrow like a cataract drench the fields,<br />
And make the earth one bitter lake of tears,<br />
It would not be enough. [<i>A peal of thunder</i>.]<br />
Do you not hear,<br />
There is artillery in the Heaven to-night.<br />
Vengeance is wakened up, and has unloosed<br />
His dogs upon the world, and in this matter<br />
Which lies between us two, let him who draws<br />
The thunder on his head beware the ruin<br />
Which the forked flame brings after.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>A flash of lightning followed
by a peal of thunder</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Away! away!</p>
<p>[<i>Exit the</i> <span class="smcap">Duchess</span>, <i>who as
she lifts the crimson curtain looks back for a moment at</i>
<span class="smcap">Guido</span>, <i>but he makes no
sign</i>. <i>More thunder</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Now is life fallen in ashes at my feet<br />
And noble love self-slain; and in its place<br />
Crept murder with its silent bloody feet.<br />
And she who wrought it—Oh! and yet she loved me,<br />
And for my sake did do this dreadful thing.<br />
I have been cruel to her: Beatrice!<br />
Beatrice, I say, come back.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Begins to ascend staircase</i>,
<i>when the noise of Soldiers is heard</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Ah! what is that?<br />
Torches ablaze, and noise of hurrying feet.<br />
Pray God they have not seized her.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Noise grows louder</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Beatrice!<br />
There is yet time to escape. Come down, come out!</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>The voice of the</i> <span
class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>outside</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">This way went he, the man who slew my lord.</p>
<p>[<i>Down the staircase comes hurrying a confused body of
Soldiers</i>; <span class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>is not seen at
first</i>, <i>till the</i> <span class="smcap">Duchess</span>
<i>surrounded by Servants carrying torches appears at the top of
the staircase</i>, <i>and points to</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span>, <i>who is seized at once</i>, <i>one
of the Soldiers dragging the knife from his hand and showing it
to the Captain of the Guard in sight of the audience</i>.
<i>Tableau</i>.]</p>
<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span
class="GutSmall">END OF ACT III.</span></p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<h2>ACT IV</h2>
<p style="text-align: center">SCENE</p>
<p><i>The Court of Justice</i>: <i>the walls are hung with
stamped grey velvet</i>: <i>above the hangings the wall is
red</i>, <i>and gilt symbolical figures bear up the roof</i>,
<i>which is made of red beams with grey soffits and moulding</i>:
<i>a canopy of white satin flowered with gold is set for the
Duchess</i>: <i>below it a long bench with red cloth for the
Judges</i>: <i>below that a table for the clerks of the
court. Two soldiers stand on each side of the canopy</i>,
<i>and two soldiers guard the door</i>; <i>the citizens have some
of them collected in the Court</i>; <i>others are coming in
greeting one another</i>; <i>two tipstaffs in violet keep order
with long white wands</i>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Good morrow, neighbour Anthony.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Good morrow, neighbour Dominick.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">This is a strange day for Padua, is it
not?—the Duke being dead.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I tell you, neighbour Dominick, I have not
known such a day since the last Duke died.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">They will try him first, and sentence him
afterwards, will they not, neighbour Anthony?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Well, well, it will go hard with him I doubt
not.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Surely it is a grievous thing to shed a
Duke’s blood.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">They say a Duke has blue blood.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I think our Duke’s blood was black like
his soul.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Have a watch, neighbour Anthony, the officer is
looking at thee.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I care not if he does but look at me; he cannot
whip me with the lashes of his eye.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What think you of this young man who stuck the
knife into the Duke?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">’Twas the first time he did it: may be
the law will not be hard on him, as he did not do it before.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">True.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Tipstaff</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Silence, knave.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Am I thy looking-glass, Master Tipstaff, that
thou callest me knave?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mistress Lucy</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, if it is a coincidence, they may not kill
the young man: there is no law against coincidences.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">But how does the Duchess?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mistress Lucy</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">But come to the Duchess, good gossip: what of
her?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mistress Lucy</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">These great folk have not much sense, so
Providence makes it up to them in fine clothes.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mistress Lucy</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Well, well, God keep murder from us, I say, as
long as we are alive.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Enter</i> <span
class="smcap">Lord Moranzone</span> <i>hurriedly</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Is the Duke dead?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">He has a knife in his heart, which they say is
not healthy for any man.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Who is accused of having killed him?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, the prisoner, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">But who is the prisoner?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, he that is accused of the Duke’s
murder.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I mean, what is his name?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Faith, the same which his godfathers gave him:
what else should it be?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Tipstaff</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guido Ferranti is his name, my lord.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I almost knew thine answer ere you gave it.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Aside</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Yet it is strange he should have killed the
Duke,<br />
Seeing he left me in such different mood.<br />
It is most likely when he saw the man,<br />
This devil who had sold his father’s life,<br />
That passion from their seat within his heart<br />
Thrust all his boyish theories of love,<br />
And in their place set vengeance; yet I marvel<br />
That he escaped not.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Turning again to the
crowd</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">How was he taken? Tell me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Marry, sir, he was taken by the heels.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">But who seized him?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, those that did lay hold of him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">How was the alarm given?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">That I cannot tell you, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mistress Lucy</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It was the Duchess herself who pointed him
out.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>aside</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">The Duchess! There is something strange
in this.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mistress Lucy</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! And the dagger was in his hand—the
Duchess’s own dagger.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What did you say?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mistress Lucy</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, marry, that it was with the
Duchess’s dagger that the Duke was killed.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>aside</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">There is some mystery about this: I cannot
understand it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">They be very long a-coming,</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I warrant they will come soon enough for the
prisoner.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Tipstaff</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Silence in the Court!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou dost break silence in bidding us keep it,
Master Tipstaff.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Enter the</i> <span
class="smcap">Lord Justice</span> <i>and the other
Judges</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Who is he in scarlet? Is he the
headsman?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, he is the Lord Justice.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Enter</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>guarded</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">There be the prisoner surely.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">He looks honest.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">That be his villany: knaves nowadays do look so
honest that honest folk are forced to look like knaves so as to
be different.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Enter the Headman</i>, <i>who
takes his stand behind</i> <span class="smcap">Guido</span>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Yon be the headsman then! O Lord!
Is the axe sharp, think you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! sharper than thy wits are; but the edge is
not towards him, mark you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span> [<i>scratching his
neck</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">I’ faith, I like it not so near.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Tut, thou need’st not be afraid; they
never cut the heads of common folk: they do but hang us.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Trumpets outside</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What are the trumpets for? Is the trial
over?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, ’tis for the Duchess.</p>
<p>[<i>Enter the</i> <span class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>in
black velvet</i>; <i>her train of flowered black velvet is
carried by two pages in violet</i>; <i>with her is the</i> <span
class="smcap">Cardinal</span> <i>in scarlet</i>, <i>and the
gentlemen of the Court in black</i>; <i>she takes her seat on the
throne above the Judges</i>, <i>who rise and take their caps off
as she enters</i>; <i>the</i> <span class="smcap">Cardinal</span>
<i>sits next to her a little lower</i>; <i>the Courtiers group
themselves about the throne</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O poor lady, how pale she is! Will she
sit there?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! she is in the Duke’s place now.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, and has given us bread: do not forget the
bread.</p>
<p>A <span class="smcap">Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Stand back, good people.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">If we be good, why should we stand back?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Tipstaff</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Silence in the Court!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">May it please your Grace,<br />
Is it your pleasure we proceed to trial<br />
Of the Duke’s murder? [<span
class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>bows</i>.]<br />
Set the prisoner forth.<br />
What is thy name?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It matters not, my lord.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guido Ferranti is thy name in Padua.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">A man may die as well under that name as any
other.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou art not ignorant<br />
What dreadful charge men lay against thee here,<br />
Namely, the treacherous murder of thy Lord,<br />
Simone Gesso, Duke of Padua;<br />
What dost thou say in answer?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I say nothing.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span> [<i>rising</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Guido Ferranti—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>stepping from the
crowd</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Tarry, my Lord Justice.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Who art thou that bid’st justice tarry,
sir?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">So be it justice it can go its way;<br />
But if it be not justice—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Who is this?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Count Bardi</span></p>
<p class="poetry">A very noble gentleman, and well known<br />
To the late Duke.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Sir, thou art come in time<br />
To see the murder of the Duke avenged.<br />
There stands the man who did this heinous thing.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My lord,<br />
I ask again what proof have ye?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span> [<i>holding up the
dagger</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">This dagger,<br />
Which from his blood-stained hands, itself all blood,<br />
Last night the soldiers seized: what further proof<br />
Need we indeed?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>takes the danger and
approaches the</i> <span class="smcap">Duchess</span>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Saw I not such a dagger<br />
Hang from your Grace’s girdle yesterday?</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>The</i> <span
class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>shudders and makes no
answer</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Ah! my Lord Justice, may I speak a moment<br />
With this young man, who in such peril stands?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, willingly, my lord, and may you turn him<br
/>
To make a full avowal of his guilt.</p>
<p>[<span class="smcap">Lord Moranzone</span> <i>goes over to</i>
<span class="smcap">Guido</span>, <i>who stands R. and clutches
him by the hand</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span> [<i>in a low
voice</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">She did it! Nay, I saw it in her eyes.<br
/>
Boy, dost thou think I’ll let thy father’s son<br />
Be by this woman butchered to his death?<br />
Her husband sold your father, and the wife<br />
Would sell the son in turn.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Lord Moranzone,<br />
I alone did this thing: be satisfied,<br />
My father is avenged.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Doth he confess?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My lord, I do confess<br />
That foul unnatural murder has been done.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, look at that: he has a pitiful heart, and
does not like murder; they will let him go for that.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Say you no more?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My lord, I say this also,<br />
That to spill human blood is deadly sin.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Marry, he should tell that to the headsman:
’tis a good sentiment.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Lastly, my lord, I do entreat the Court<br />
To give me leave to utter openly<br />
The dreadful secret of this mystery,<br />
And to point out the very guilty one<br />
Who with this dagger last night slew the Duke.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou hast leave to speak.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>rising</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">I say he shall not speak:<br />
What need have we of further evidence?<br />
Was he not taken in the house at night<br />
In Guilt’s own bloody livery?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span> [<i>showing her the
statute</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Your Grace<br />
Can read the law.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>waiving book
aside</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Bethink you, my Lord Justice,<br />
Is it not very like that such a one<br />
May, in the presence of the people here,<br />
Utter some slanderous word against my Lord,<br />
Against the city, or the city’s honour,<br />
Perchance against myself.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My liege, the law.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">He shall not speak, but, with gags in his
mouth,<br />
Shall climb the ladder to the bloody block.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">The law, my liege.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">We are not bound by law,<br />
But with it we bind others.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My Lord Justice,<br />
Thou wilt not suffer this injustice here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">The Court needs not thy voice, Lord
Moranzone.<br />
Madam, it were a precedent most evil<br />
To wrest the law from its appointed course,<br />
For, though the cause be just, yet anarchy<br />
Might on this licence touch these golden scales<br />
And unjust causes unjust victories gain.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Count Bardi</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I do not think your Grace can stay the law.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, it is well to preach and prate of law:<br
/>
Methinks, my haughty lords of Padua,<br />
If ye are hurt in pocket or estate,<br />
So much as makes your monstrous revenues<br />
Less by the value of one ferry toll,<br />
Ye do not wait the tedious law’s delay<br />
With such sweet patience as ye counsel me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Count Bardi</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Madam, I think you wrong our nobles here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I think I wrong them not. Which of you
all<br />
Finding a thief within his house at night,<br />
With some poor chattel thrust into his rags,<br />
Will stop and parley with him? do ye not<br />
Give him unto the officer and his hook<br />
To be dragged gaolwards straightway?<br />
And so now,<br />
Had ye been men, finding this fellow here,<br />
With my Lord’s life still hot upon his hands,<br />
Ye would have haled him out into the court,<br />
And struck his head off with an axe.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O God!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Speak, my Lord Justice.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Your Grace, it cannot be:<br />
The laws of Padua are most certain here:<br />
And by those laws the common murderer even<br />
May with his own lips plead, and make defence.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">This is no common murderer, Lord Justice,<br />
But a great outlaw, and a most vile traitor,<br />
Taken in open arms against the state.<br />
For he who slays the man who rules a state<br />
Slays the state also, widows every wife,<br />
And makes each child an orphan, and no less<br />
Is to be held a public enemy,<br />
Than if he came with mighty ordonnance,<br />
And all the spears of Venice at his back,<br />
To beat and batter at our city gates—<br />
Nay, is more dangerous to our commonwealth,<br />
For walls and gates, bastions and forts, and things<br />
Whose common elements are wood and stone<br />
May be raised up, but who can raise again<br />
The ruined body of my murdered lord,<br />
And bid it live and laugh?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Maffio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Now by Saint Paul<br />
I do not think that they will let him speak.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Jeppo Vitellozzo</span></p>
<p class="poetry">There is much in this, listen.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Wherefore now,<br />
Throw ashes on the head of Padua,<br />
With sable banners hang each silent street,<br />
Let every man be clad in solemn black;<br />
But ere we turn to these sad rites of mourning<br />
Let us bethink us of the desperate hand<br />
Which wrought and brought this ruin on our state,<br />
And straightway pack him to that narrow house,<br />
Where no voice is, but with a little dust<br />
Death fills right up the lying mouths of men.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Unhand me, knaves! I tell thee, my Lord
Justice,<br />
Thou mightst as well bid the untrammelled ocean,<br />
The winter whirlwind, or the Alpine storm,<br />
Not roar their will, as bid me hold my peace!<br />
Ay! though ye put your knives into my throat,<br />
Each grim and gaping wound shall find a tongue,<br />
And cry against you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Sir, this violence<br />
Avails you nothing; for save the tribunal<br />
Give thee a lawful right to open speech,<br />
Naught that thou sayest can be credited.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>The</i> <span
class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>smiles and</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>falls back with a gesture of
despair</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Madam, myself, and these wise Justices,<br />
Will with your Grace’s sanction now retire<br />
Into another chamber, to decide<br />
Upon this difficult matter of the law,<br />
And search the statutes and the precedents.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Go, my Lord Justice, search the statutes
well,<br />
Nor let this brawling traitor have his way.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Go, my Lord Justice, search thy conscience
well,<br />
Nor let a man be sent to death unheard.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit the</i> <span
class="smcap">Lord Justice</span> <i>and the Judges</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Silence, thou evil genius of my life!<br />
Thou com’st between us two a second time;<br />
This time, my lord, I think the turn is mine.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I shall not die till I have uttered voice.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou shalt die silent, and thy secret with
thee.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Art thou that Beatrice, Duchess of Padua?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I am what thou hast made me; look at me
well,<br />
I am thy handiwork.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Maffio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">See, is she not<br />
Like that white tigress which we saw at Venice,<br />
Sent by some Indian soldan to the Doge?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Jeppo</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Hush! she may hear thy chatter.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Headsman</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My young fellow,<br />
I do not know why thou shouldst care to speak,<br />
Seeing my axe is close upon thy neck,<br />
And words of thine will never blunt its edge.<br />
But if thou art so bent upon it, why<br />
Thou mightest plead unto the Churchman yonder:<br />
The common people call him kindly here,<br />
Indeed I know he has a kindly soul.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">This man, whose trade is death, hath
courtesies<br />
More than the others.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Headsman</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, God love you, sir,<br />
I’ll do you your last service on this earth.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My good Lord Cardinal, in a Christian land,<br
/>
With Lord Christ’s face of mercy looking down<br />
From the high seat of Judgment, shall a man<br />
Die unabsolved, unshrived? And if not so,<br />
May I not tell this dreadful tale of sin,<br />
If any sin there be upon my soul?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou dost but waste thy time.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cardinal</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Alack, my son,<br />
I have no power with the secular arm.<br />
My task begins when justice has been done,<br />
To urge the wavering sinner to repent<br />
And to confess to Holy Church’s ear<br />
The dreadful secrets of a sinful mind.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou mayest speak to the confessional<br />
Until thy lips grow weary of their tale,<br />
But here thou shalt not speak.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My reverend father,<br />
You bring me but cold comfort.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cardinal</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, my son,<br />
For the great power of our mother Church,<br />
Ends not with this poor bubble of a world,<br />
Of which we are but dust, as Jerome saith,<br />
For if the sinner doth repentant die,<br />
Our prayers and holy masses much avail<br />
To bring the guilty soul from purgatory.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And when in purgatory thou seest my Lord<br />
With that red star of blood upon his heart,<br />
Tell him I sent thee hither.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O dear God!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">This is the woman, is it, whom you loved?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cardinal</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Your Grace is very cruel to this man.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No more than he was cruel to her Grace.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cardinal</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Yet mercy is the sovereign right of
princes.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I got no mercy, and I give it not.<br />
He hath changed my heart into a heart of stone,<br />
He hath sown rank nettles in a goodly field,<br />
He hath poisoned the wells of pity in my breast,<br />
He hath withered up all kindness at the root;<br />
My life is as some famine murdered land,<br />
Whence all good things have perished utterly:<br />
I am what he hath made me.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>The</i> <span
class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>weeps</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Jeppo</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Is it not strange<br />
That she should so have loved the wicked Duke?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Maffio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It is most strange when women love their
lords,<br />
And when they love them not it is most strange.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Jeppo</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What a philosopher thou art, Petrucci!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Maffio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! I can bear the ills of other men,<br
/>
Which is philosophy.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">They tarry long,<br />
These greybeards and their council; bid them come;<br />
Bid them come quickly, else I think my heart<br />
Will beat itself to bursting: not indeed,<br />
That I here care to live; God knows my life<br />
Is not so full of joy, yet, for all that,<br />
I would not die companionless, or go<br />
Lonely to Hell.<br />
Look, my Lord Cardinal,<br />
Canst thou not see across my forehead here,<br />
In scarlet letters writ, the word Revenge?<br />
Fetch me some water, I will wash it off:<br />
’Twas branded there last night, but in the day-time<br />
I need not wear it, need I, my Lord Cardinal?<br />
Oh, how it sears and burns into my brain:<br />
Give me a knife; not that one, but another,<br />
And I will cut it out.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cardinal</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It is most natural<br />
To be incensed against the murderous hand<br />
That treacherously stabbed your sleeping lord.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I would, old Cardinal, I could burn that
hand;<br />
But it will burn hereafter.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cardinal</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, the Church<br />
Ordains us to forgive our enemies.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Forgiveness? what is that? I never got
it.<br />
They come at last: well, my Lord Justice, well.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Enter the</i> <span
class="smcap">Lord Justice</span>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Most gracious Lady, and our sovereign Liege,<br
/>
We have long pondered on the point at issue,<br />
And much considered of your Grace’s wisdom,<br />
And never wisdom spake from fairer lips—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Proceed, sir, without compliment.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">We find,<br />
As your own Grace did rightly signify,<br />
That any citizen, who by force or craft<br />
Conspires against the person of the Liege,<br />
Is <i>ipso facto</i> outlaw, void of rights<br />
Such as pertain to other citizens,<br />
Is traitor, and a public enemy,<br />
Who may by any casual sword be slain<br />
Without the slayer’s danger; nay, if brought<br />
Into the presence of the tribunal,<br />
Must with dumb lips and silence reverent<br />
Listen unto his well-deserved doom,<br />
Nor has the privilege of open speech.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I thank thee, my Lord Justice, heartily;<br />
I like your law: and now I pray dispatch<br />
This public outlaw to his righteous doom;<br />
What is there more?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, there is more, your Grace.<br />
This man being alien born, not Paduan,<br />
Nor by allegiance bound unto the Duke,<br />
Save such as common nature doth lay down,<br />
Hath, though accused of treasons manifold,<br />
Whose slightest penalty is certain death,<br />
Yet still the right of public utterance<br />
Before the people and the open court;<br />
Nay, shall be much entreated by the Court,<br />
To make some formal pleading for his life,<br />
Lest his own city, righteously incensed,<br />
Should with an unjust trial tax our state,<br />
And wars spring up against the commonwealth:<br />
So merciful are the laws of Padua<br />
Unto the stranger living in her gates.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Being of my Lord’s household, is he
stranger here?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, until seven years of service spent<br />
He cannot be a Paduan citizen.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I thank thee, my Lord Justice, heartily;<br />
I like your law.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I like no law at all:<br />
Were there no law there’d be no law-breakers,<br />
So all men would be virtuous.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Citizen</span></p>
<p class="poetry">So they would;<br />
’Tis a wise saying that, and brings you far.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Tipstaff</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! to the gallows, knave.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Is this the law?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It is the law most certainly, my liege.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Show me the book: ’tis written in
blood-red.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Jeppo</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Look at the Duchess.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou accursed law,<br />
I would that I could tear thee from the state<br />
As easy as I tear thee from this book.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Tears out the page</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Come here, Count Bardi: are you honourable?<br
/>
Get a horse ready for me at my house,<br />
For I must ride to Venice instantly.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Bardi</span></p>
<p class="poetry">To Venice, Madam?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Not a word of this,<br />
Go, go at once. [<i>Exit</i> <span class="smcap">Count
Bardi</span>.]<br />
A moment, my Lord Justice.<br />
If, as thou sayest it, this is the law—<br />
Nay, nay, I doubt not that thou sayest right,<br />
Though right be wrong in such a case as this—<br />
May I not by the virtue of mine office<br />
Adjourn this court until another day?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Madam, you cannot stay a trial for blood.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I will not tarry then to hear this man<br />
Rail with rude tongue against our sacred person.<br />
Come, gentlemen.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My liege,<br />
You cannot leave this court until the prisoner<br />
Be purged or guilty of this dread offence.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Cannot, Lord Justice? By what right do
you<br />
Set barriers in my path where I should go?<br />
Am I not Duchess here in Padua,<br />
And the state’s regent?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">For that reason, Madam,<br />
Being the fountain-head of life and death<br />
Whence, like a mighty river, justice flows,<br />
Without thy presence justice is dried up<br />
And fails of purpose: thou must tarry here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What, wilt thou keep me here against my
will?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">We pray thy will be not against the law.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What if I force my way out of the court?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou canst not force the Court to give thee
way.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I will not tarry. [<i>Rises from her
seat</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Is the usher here?<br />
Let him stand forth. [<i>Usher comes forward</i>.]<br />
Thou knowest thy business, sir.</p>
<p>[<i>The Usher closes the doors of the court</i>, <i>which are
L.</i>, <i>and when the</i> <span class="smcap">Duchess</span>
<i>and her retinue approach</i>, <i>kneels down</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Usher</span></p>
<p class="poetry">In all humility I beseech your Grace<br />
Turn not my duty to discourtesy,<br />
Nor make my unwelcome office an offence.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Is there no gentleman amongst you all<br />
To prick this prating fellow from our way?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Maffio</span> [<i>drawing his
sword</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! that will I.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Count Maffio, have a care,<br />
And you, sir. [<i>To</i> <span
class="smcap">Jeppo</span>.]<br />
The first man who draws his sword<br />
Upon the meanest officer of this Court,<br />
Dies before nightfall.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Sirs, put up your swords:<br />
It is most meet that I should hear this man.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes back to throne</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Moranzone</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Now hast thou got thy enemy in thy hand.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span> [<i>taking the
time-glass up</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Guido Ferranti, while the crumbling sand<br />
Falls through this time-glass, thou hast leave to speak.<br />
This and no more.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It is enough, my lord.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thou standest on the extreme verge of death;<br
/>
See that thou speakest nothing but the truth,<br />
Naught else will serve thee.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">If I speak it not,<br />
Then give my body to the headsman there.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span> [<i>turns the
time-glass</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Let there be silence while the prisoner
speaks.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Tipstaff</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Silence in the Court there.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">My Lords Justices,<br />
And reverent judges of this worthy court,<br />
I hardly know where to begin my tale,<br />
So strangely dreadful is this history.<br />
First, let me tell you of what birth I am.<br />
I am the son of that good Duke Lorenzo<br />
Who was with damned treachery done to death<br />
By a most wicked villain, lately Duke<br />
Of this good town of Padua.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Have a care,<br />
It will avail thee nought to mock this prince<br />
Who now lies in his coffin.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Maffio</span></p>
<p class="poetry">By Saint James,<br />
This is the Duke of Parma’s rightful heir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Jeppo</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I always thought him noble.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I confess<br />
That with the purport of a just revenge,<br />
A most just vengeance on a man of blood,<br />
I entered the Duke’s household, served his will,<br />
Sat at his board, drank of his wine, and was<br />
His intimate: so much I will confess,<br />
And this too, that I waited till he grew<br />
To give the fondest secrets of his life<br />
Into my keeping, till he fawned on me,<br />
And trusted me in every private matter<br />
Even as my noble father trusted him;<br />
That for this thing I waited.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>To the Headsman</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Thou man of blood!<br />
Turn not thine axe on me before the time:<br />
Who knows if it be time for me to die?<br />
Is there no other neck in court but mine?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">The sand within the time-glass flows apace.<br
/>
Come quickly to the murder of the Duke.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I will be brief: Last night at twelve o’
the clock,<br />
By a strong rope I scaled the palace wall,<br />
With purport to revenge my father’s murder—<br />
Ay! with that purport I confess, my lord.<br />
This much I will acknowledge, and this also,<br />
That as with stealthy feet I climbed the stair<br />
Which led unto the chamber of the Duke,<br />
And reached my hand out for the scarlet cloth<br />
Which shook and shivered in the gusty door,<br />
Lo! the white moon that sailed in the great heaven<br />
Flooded with silver light the darkened room,<br />
Night lit her candles for me, and I saw<br />
The man I hated, cursing in his sleep;<br />
And thinking of a most dear father murdered,<br />
Sold to the scaffold, bartered to the block,<br />
I smote the treacherous villain to the heart<br />
With this same dagger, which by chance I found<br />
Within the chamber.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>rising from her
seat</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Oh!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>hurriedly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">I killed the Duke.<br />
Now, my Lord Justice, if I may crave a boon,<br />
Suffer me not to see another sun<br />
Light up the misery of this loathsome world.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Thy boon is granted, thou shalt die
to-night.<br />
Lead him away. Come, Madam</p>
<p>[<span class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>is led off</i>; <i>as he
goes the</i> <span class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>stretches out
her arms and rushes down the stage</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guido! Guido!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Faints</i>.]</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Tableau</i></p>
<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span
class="GutSmall">END OF ACT IV.</span></p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<h2>ACT V</h2>
<p style="text-align: center">SCENE</p>
<p><i>A dungeon in the public prison of Padua</i>; <i>Guido lies
asleep on a pallet</i> (<i>L.C.</i>); <i>a table with a goblet on
it is set</i> (<i>L.C.</i>); <i>five soldiers are drinking and
playing dice in the corner on a stone table</i>; <i>one of them
has a lantern hung to his halbert</i>; <i>a torch is set in the
wall over Guido’s head</i>. <i>Two grated windows
behind</i>, <i>one on each side of the door which is</i>
(<i>C.</i>), <i>look out into the passage</i>; <i>the stage is
rather dark</i>.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span> [<i>throws
dice</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Sixes again! good Pietro.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I’ faith, lieutenant, I will play with
thee no more. I will lose everything.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Except thy wits; thou art safe there!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, ay, he cannot take them from me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No; for thou hast no wits to give him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">The Soldiers</span> [<i>loudly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Ha! ha! ha!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Silence! You will wake the prisoner; he
is asleep.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay! for when he wakes there it will be
judgment day.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Well, well, he was a wicked Duke.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And so he should not have touched him; if one
meddles with wicked people, one is like to be tainted with their
wickedness.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, that is true. How old is the
prisoner?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Old enough to do wrong, and not old enough to
be wise.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, then, he might be any age.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">They say the Duchess wanted to pardon him.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Is that so?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, and did much entreat the Lord Justice, but
he would not.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I had thought, Pietro, that the Duchess was
omnipotent.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">True, she is well-favoured; I know none so
comely.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">The Soldiers</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ha! ha! ha!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I meant I had thought our Duchess could do
anything.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Second Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And if he does not drink it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why, then, they will kill him.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Knocking comes at the
door</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">See who that is.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Third Soldier goes over and
looks through the wicket</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It is a woman, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Is she pretty?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Third Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I can’t tell. She is masked,
lieutenant.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It is only very ugly or very beautiful women
who ever hide their faces. Let her in.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Soldier opens the door</i>,
<i>and the</i> <span class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>masked and
cloaked enters</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>to Third
Soldier</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Are you the officer on guard?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span> [<i>coming
forward</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">I am, madam.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I must see the prisoner alone.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I am afraid that is impossible.
[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>hands him a
ring</i>, <i>he looks at and returns it to her with a bow and
makes a sign to the Soldiers</i>.] Stand without there.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exeunt the Soldiers</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Officer, your men are somewhat rough.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">They mean no harm.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I shall be going back in a few minutes.
As I pass through the corridor do not let them try and lift my
mask.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You need not be afraid, madam.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I have a particular reason for wishing my face
not to be seen.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Madam, with this ring you can go in and out as
you please; it is the Duchess’s own ring.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Leave us. [<i>The Soldier turns to go
out</i>.] A moment, sir. For what hour is . . .</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">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.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Is that poison?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay, madam, and very sure poison too.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You may go, sir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">First Soldier</span></p>
<p class="poetry">By Saint James, a pretty hand! I wonder
who she is. Some woman who loved him, perhaps.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Exit</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>taking her mark
off</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">At last!<br />
He can escape now in this cloak and vizard,<br />
We are of a height almost: they will not know him;<br />
As for myself what matter?<br />
So that he does not curse me as he goes,<br />
I care but little: I wonder will he curse me.<br />
He has the right. It is eleven now;<br />
They will not come till twelve.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes over to the table</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">So this is poison.<br />
Is it not strange that in this liquor here<br />
There lies the key to all philosophies?</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Takes the cup up</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">It smells of poppies. I remember well<br
/>
That, when I was a child in Sicily,<br />
I took the scarlet poppies from the corn,<br />
And made a little wreath, and my grave uncle,<br />
Don John of Naples, laughed: I did not know<br />
That they had power to stay the springs of life,<br />
To make the pulse cease beating, and to chill<br />
The blood in its own vessels, till men come<br />
And with a hook hale the poor body out,<br />
And throw it in a ditch: the body, ay,—<br />
What of the soul? that goes to heaven or hell.<br />
Where will mine go?</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Takes the torch from the
wall</i>, <i>and goes over to the bed</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">How peacefully here he sleeps,<br />
Like a young schoolboy tired out with play:<br />
I would that I could sleep so peacefully,<br />
But I have dreams. [<i>Bending over him</i>.]<br />
Poor boy: what if I kissed him?<br />
No, no, my lips would burn him like a fire.<br />
He has had enough of Love. Still that white neck<br />
Will ’scape the headsman: I have seen to that:<br />
He will get hence from Padua to-night,<br />
And that is well. You are very wise, Lord Justices,<br />
And yet you are not half so wise as I am,<br />
And that is well.<br />
O God! how I have loved you,<br />
And what a bloody flower did Love bear!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Comes back to the
table</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">What if I drank these juices, and so ceased?<br
/>
Were it not better than to wait till Death<br />
Come to my bed with all his serving men,<br />
Remorse, disease, old age, and misery?<br />
I wonder does one suffer much: I think<br />
That I am very young to die like this,<br />
But so it must be. Why, why should I die?<br />
He will escape to-night, and so his blood<br />
Will not be on my head. No, I must die;<br />
I have been guilty, therefore I must die;<br />
He loves me not, and therefore I must die:<br />
I would die happier if he would kiss me,<br />
But he will not do that. I did not know him.<br />
I thought he meant to sell me to the Judge;<br />
That is not strange; we women never know<br />
Our lovers till they leave us.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Bell begins to toll</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Thou vile bell,<br />
That like a bloodhound from thy brazen throat<br />
Call’st for this man’s life, cease! thou shalt not
get it.<br />
He stirs—I must be quick: [<i>Takes up cup</i>.]<br
/>
O Love, Love, Love,<br />
I did not think that I would pledge thee thus!</p>
<p>[<i>Drinks poison</i>, <i>and sets the cup down on the table
behind her</i>: <i>the noise wakens</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span>, <i>who starts up</i>, <i>and does not
see what she has done</i>. <i>There is silence for a
minute</i>, <i>each looking at the other</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">I do not come to ask your pardon now,<br />
Seeing I know I stand beyond all pardon;<br />
Enough of that: I have already, sir,<br />
Confessed my sin to the Lords Justices;<br />
They would not listen to me: and some said<br />
I did invent a tale to save your life;<br />
You have trafficked with me; others said<br />
That women played with pity as with men;<br />
Others that grief for my slain Lord and husband<br />
Had robbed me of my wits: they would not hear me,<br />
And, when I sware it on the holy book,<br />
They bade the doctor cure me. They are ten,<br />
Ten against one, and they possess your life.<br />
They call me Duchess here in Padua.<br />
I do not know, sir; if I be the Duchess,<br />
I wrote your pardon, and they would not take it;<br />
They call it treason, say I taught them that;<br />
Maybe I did. Within an hour, Guido,<br />
They will be here, and drag you from the cell,<br />
And bind your hands behind your back, and bid you<br />
Kneel at the block: I am before them there;<br />
Here is the signet ring of Padua,<br />
’Twill bring you safely through the men on guard;<br />
There is my cloak and vizard; they have orders<br />
Not to be curious: when you pass the gate<br />
Turn to the left, and at the second bridge<br />
You will find horses waiting: by to-morrow<br />
You will be at Venice, safe. [<i>A pause</i>.]<br />
Do you not speak?<br />
Will you not even curse me ere you go?—<br />
You have the right. [<i>A pause</i>.]<br />
You do not understand<br />
There lies between you and the headsman’s axe<br />
Hardly so much sand in the hour-glass<br />
As a child’s palm could carry: here is the ring:<br />
I have washed my hand: there is no blood upon it:<br />
You need not fear. Will you not take the ring?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>takes ring and kisses
it</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! gladly, Madam.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And leave Padua.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Leave Padua.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">But it must be to-night.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">To-night it shall be.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, thank God for that!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">So I can live; life never seemed so sweet<br />
As at this moment.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Do not tarry, Guido,<br />
There is my cloak: the horse is at the bridge,<br />
The second bridge below the ferry house:<br />
Why do you tarry? Can your ears not hear<br />
This dreadful bell, whose every ringing stroke<br />
Robs one brief minute from your boyish life.<br />
Go quickly.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay! he will come soon enough.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Who?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>calmly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Why, the headsman.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, no.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Only he<br />
Can bring me out of Padua.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You dare not!<br />
You dare not burden my o’erburdened soul<br />
With two dead men! I think one is enough.<br />
For when I stand before God, face to face,<br />
I would not have you, with a scarlet thread<br />
Around your white throat, coming up behind<br />
To say I did it.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Madam, I wait.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, no, you cannot: you do not understand,<br
/>
I have less power in Padua to-night<br />
Than any common woman; they will kill you.<br />
I saw the scaffold as I crossed the square,<br />
Already the low rabble throng about it<br />
With fearful jests, and horrid merriment,<br />
As though it were a morris-dancer’s platform,<br />
And not Death’s sable throne. O Guido, Guido,<br />
You must escape!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Madam, I tarry here.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guido, you shall not: it would be a thing<br />
So terrible that the amazed stars<br />
Would fall from heaven, and the palsied moon<br />
Be in her sphere eclipsed, and the great sun<br />
Refuse to shine upon the unjust earth<br />
Which saw thee die.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Be sure I shall not stir.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>wringing her
hands</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Is one sin not enough, but must it breed<br />
A second sin more horrible again<br />
Than was the one that bare it? O God, God,<br />
Seal up sin’s teeming womb, and make it barren,<br />
I will not have more blood upon my hand<br />
Than I have now.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>seizing her hand</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">What! am I fallen so low<br />
That I may not have leave to die for you?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>tearing her hand
away</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Die for me?—no, my life is a vile
thing,<br />
Thrown to the miry highways of this world;<br />
You shall not die for me, you shall not, Guido;<br />
I am a guilty woman.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guilty?—let those<br />
Who know what a thing temptation is,<br />
Let those who have not walked as we have done,<br />
In the red fire of passion, those whose lives<br />
Are dull and colourless, in a word let those,<br />
If any such there be, who have not loved,<br />
Cast stones against you. As for me—</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Alas!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>falling at her
feet</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">You are my lady, and you are my love!<br />
O hair of gold, O crimson lips, O face<br />
Made for the luring and the love of man!<br />
Incarnate image of pure loveliness!<br />
Worshipping thee I do forget the past,<br />
Worshipping thee my soul comes close to thine,<br />
Worshipping thee I seem to be a god,<br />
And though they give my body to the block,<br />
Yet is my love eternal!</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<span class="smcap">Duchess</span>
<i>puts her hands over her face</i>: <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>draws them down</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Sweet, lift up<br />
The trailing curtains that overhang your eyes<br />
That I may look into those eyes, and tell you<br />
I love you, never more than now when Death<br />
Thrusts his cold lips between us: Beatrice,<br />
I love you: have you no word left to say?<br />
Oh, I can bear the executioner,<br />
But not this silence: will you not say you love me?<br />
Speak but that word and Death shall lose his sting,<br />
But speak it not, and fifty thousand deaths<br />
Are, in comparison, mercy. Oh, you are cruel,<br />
And do not love me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Alas! I have no right<br />
For I have stained the innocent hands of love<br />
With spilt-out blood: there is blood on the ground;<br />
I set it there.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Sweet, it was not yourself,<br />
It was some devil tempted you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>rising
suddenly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">No, no,<br />
We are each our own devil, and we make<br />
This world our hell.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Then let high Paradise<br />
Fall into Tartarus! for I shall make<br />
This world my heaven for a little space.<br />
The sin was mine, if any sin there was.<br />
’Twas I who nurtured murder in my heart,<br />
Sweetened my meats, seasoned my wine with it,<br />
And in my fancy slew the accursed Duke<br />
A hundred times a day. Why, had this man<br />
Died half so often as I wished him to,<br />
Death had been stalking ever through the house,<br />
And murder had not slept.<br />
But you, fond heart,<br />
Whose little eyes grew tender over a whipt hound,<br />
You whom the little children laughed to see<br />
Because you brought the sunlight where you passed,<br />
You the white angel of God’s purity,<br />
This which men call your sin, what was it?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ay!<br />
What was it? There are times it seems a dream,<br />
An evil dream sent by an evil god,<br />
And then I see the dead face in the coffin<br />
And know it is no dream, but that my hand<br />
Is red with blood, and that my desperate soul<br />
Striving to find some haven for its love<br />
From the wild tempest of this raging world,<br />
Has wrecked its bark upon the rocks of sin.<br />
What was it, said you?—murder merely? Nothing<br />
But murder, horrible murder.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, nay, nay,<br />
’Twas but the passion-flower of your love<br />
That in one moment leapt to terrible life,<br />
And in one moment bare this gory fruit,<br />
Which I had plucked in thought a thousand times.<br />
My soul was murderous, but my hand refused;<br />
Your hand wrought murder, but your soul was pure.<br />
And so I love you, Beatrice, and let him<br />
Who has no mercy for your stricken head,<br />
Lack mercy up in heaven! Kiss me, sweet.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Tries to kiss her</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, no, your lips are pure, and mine are
soiled,<br />
For Guilt has been my paramour, and Sin<br />
Lain in my bed: O Guido, if you love me<br />
Get hence, for every moment is a worm<br />
Which gnaws your life away: nay, sweet, get hence,<br />
And if in after time you think of me,<br />
Think of me as of one who loved you more<br />
Than anything on earth; think of me, Guido,<br />
As of a woman merely, one who tried<br />
To make her life a sacrifice to love,<br />
And slew love in the trial: Oh, what is that?<br />
The bell has stopped from ringing, and I hear<br />
The feet of armed men upon the stair.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span> [<i>aside</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">That is the signal for the guard to come.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why has the bell stopped ringing?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">If you must know,<br />
That stops my life on this side of the grave,<br />
But on the other we shall meet again.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, no, ’tis not too late: you must get
hence;<br />
The horse is by the bridge, there is still time.<br />
Away, away, you must not tarry here!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Noise of Soldiers in the
passage</i>.]</p>
<p>A <span class="smcap">Voice Outside</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Room for the Lord Justice of Padua!</p>
<p>[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span> <i>is seen
through the grated window passing down the corridor preceded by
men bearing torches</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It is too late.</p>
<p>A <span class="smcap">Voice Outside</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Room for the headsman.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>sinks down</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Oh!</p>
<p>[<i>The Headsman with his axe on his shoulder is seen passing
the corridor</i>, <i>followed by Monks bearing candles</i>.]</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Farewell, dear love, for I must drink this
poison.<br />
I do not fear the headsman, but I would die<br />
Not on the lonely scaffold.<br />
But here,<br />
Here in thine arms, kissing thy mouth: farewell!</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Goes to the table and takes the
goblet up</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">What, art thou empty?</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>Throws it to the
ground</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">O thou churlish gaoler,<br />
Even of poisons niggard!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span> [<i>faintly</i>]</p>
<p class="poetry">Blame him not.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O God! you have not drunk it, Beatrice?<br />
Tell me you have not?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Were I to deny it,<br />
There is a fire eating at my heart<br />
Which would find utterance.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O treacherous love,<br />
Why have you not left a drop for me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, no, it held but death enough for one.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Is there no poison still upon your lips,<br />
That I may draw it from them?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Why should you die?<br />
You have not spilt blood, and so need not die:<br />
I have spilt blood, and therefore I must die.<br />
Was it not said blood should be spilt for blood?<br />
Who said that? I forget.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Tarry for me,<br />
Our souls will go together.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, you must live.<br />
There are many other women in the world<br />
Who will love you, and not murder for your sake.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I love you only.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You need not die for that.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ah, if we die together, love, why then<br />
Can we not lie together in one grave?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">A grave is but a narrow wedding-bed.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">It is enough for us</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">And they will strew it<br />
With a stark winding-sheet, and bitter herbs:<br />
I think there are no roses in the grave,<br />
Or if there are, they all are withered now<br />
Since my Lord went there.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Ah! dear Beatrice,<br />
Your lips are roses that death cannot wither.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, if we lie together, will not my lips<br />
Fall into dust, and your enamoured eyes<br />
Shrivel to sightless sockets, and the worms,<br />
Which are our groomsmen, eat away your heart?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I do not care: Death has no power on love.<br
/>
And so by Love’s immortal sovereignty<br />
I will die with you.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">But the grave is black,<br />
And the pit black, so I must go before<br />
To light the candles for your coming hither.<br />
No, no, I will not die, I will not die.<br />
Love, you are strong, and young, and very brave;<br />
Stand between me and the angel of death,<br />
And wrestle with him for me.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Thrusts</i> <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>in front of her with his back to
the audience</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">I will kiss you,<br />
When you have thrown him. Oh, have you no cordial,<br />
To stay the workings of this poison in me?<br />
Are there no rivers left in Italy<br />
That you will not fetch me one cup of water<br />
To quench this fire?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O God!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">You did not tell me<br />
There was a drought in Italy, and no water:<br />
Nothing but fire.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O Love!</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Send for a leech,<br />
Not him who stanched my husband, but another<br />
We have no time: send for a leech, I say:<br />
There is an antidote against each poison,<br />
And he will sell it if we give him money.<br />
Tell him that I will give him Padua,<br />
For one short hour of life: I will not die.<br />
Oh, I am sick to death; no, do not touch me,<br />
This poison gnaws my heart: I did not know<br />
It was such pain to die: I thought that life<br />
Had taken all the agonies to itself;<br />
It seems it is not so.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">O damnéd stars<br />
Quench your vile cresset-lights in tears, and bid<br />
The moon, your mistress, shine no more to-night.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Guido, why are we here? I think this
room<br />
Is poorly furnished for a marriage chamber.<br />
Let us get hence at once. Where are the horses?<br />
We should be on our way to Venice now.<br />
How cold the night is! We must ride faster.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">[<i>The Monks begin to chant
outside</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Music! It should be merrier; but grief<br
/>
Is of the fashion now—I know not why.<br />
You must not weep: do we not love each other?—<br />
That is enough. Death, what do you here?<br />
You were not bidden to this table, sir;<br />
Away, we have no need of you: I tell you<br />
It was in wine I pledged you, not in poison.<br />
They lied who told you that I drank your poison.<br />
It was spilt upon the ground, like my Lord’s blood;<br />
You came too late.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Sweet, there is nothing there:<br />
These things are only unreal shadows.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Death,<br />
Why do you tarry, get to the upper chamber;<br />
The cold meats of my husband’s funeral feast<br />
Are set for you; this is a wedding feast.<br />
You are out of place, sir; and, besides, ’tis summer.<br />
We do not need these heavy fires now,<br />
You scorch us.<br />
Oh, I am burned up,<br />
Can you do nothing? Water, give me water,<br />
Or else more poison. No: I feel no pain—<br />
Is it not curious I should feel no pain?—<br />
And Death has gone away, I am glad of that.<br />
I thought he meant to part us. Tell me, Guido,<br />
Are you not sorry that you ever saw me?</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">I swear I would not have lived otherwise.<br />
Why, in this dull and common world of ours<br />
Men have died looking for such moments as this<br />
And have not found them.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Then you are not sorry?<br />
How strange that seems.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">What, Beatrice, have I not<br />
Stood face to face with beauty? That is enough<br />
For one man’s life. Why, love, I could be merry;<br
/>
I have been often sadder at a feast,<br />
But who were sad at such a feast as this<br />
When Love and Death are both our cup-bearers?<br />
We love and die together.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">Oh, I have been<br />
Guilty beyond all women, and indeed<br />
Beyond all women punished. Do you think—<br />
No, that could not be—Oh, do you think that love<br />
Can wipe the bloody stain from off my hands,<br />
Pour balm into my wounds, heal up my hurts,<br />
And wash my scarlet sins as white as snow?—<br />
For I have sinned.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guido</span></p>
<p class="poetry">They do not sin at all<br />
Who sin for love.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Duchess</span></p>
<p class="poetry">No, I have sinned, and yet<br />
Perchance my sin will be forgiven me.<br />
I have loved much</p>
<p>[<i>They kiss each other now for the first time in this
Act</i>, <i>when suddenly the</i> <span
class="smcap">Duchess</span> <i>leaps up in the dreadful spasm of
death</i>, <i>tears in agony at her dress</i>, <i>and
finally</i>, <i>with face twisted and distorted with pain</i>,
<i>falls back dead in a chair</i>. <span
class="smcap">Guido</span> <i>seizing her dagger from her
belt</i>, <i>kills himself</i>; <i>and</i>, <i>as he falls across
her knees</i>, <i>clutches at the cloak which is on the back of
the chair</i>, <i>and throws it entirely over her</i>.
<i>There is a little pause</i>. <i>Then down the passage
comes the tramp of Soldiers</i>; <i>the door is opened</i>,
<i>and the</i> <span class="smcap">Lord Justice</span>, <i>the
Headsman</i>, <i>and the Guard enter and see this figure shrouded
in black</i>, <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Guido</span>
<i>lying dead across her</i>. <i>The</i> <span
class="smcap">Lord Justice</span> <i>rushes forward and drags the
cloak off the</i> <span class="smcap">Duchess</span>, <i>whose
face is now the marble image of peace</i>, <i>the sign of
God’s forgiveness</i>.]</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>Tableau</i></p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span
class="smcap">Curtain</span></p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center">Printed by T. and A. <span
class="smcap">Constable</span>, Printers to His Majesty<br />
at the Edinburgh University Press</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUCHESS OF PADUA***</p>
<pre>
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