The Duchess of Padua
.4 ■, •'Ifir ^Hi;; ' '«.». >iTcU:;'* 'U. ■^>- ,cX^ ■ \ o. ^\ 0 -c .v-^ "^^.. '. . ^^C^ o 0' ^:>^ V <^yjpM ^ -■ .; %: 0' ,0 0, .0^^ V Oo, 4 ^ o >*' f. .0 0^ ,#■ '?^, ■"^ '^^. V t^ •\' .>f''-. -0' ^C. \^ , \ IB '=-.. •r-' \'' "^.^ v^ v-^^' A^ J^\> ^' 0^ 0 ^ '- •x V >do v^ s ^/:.. K^ >' O- ,\\- ^ v^' • ■■; '^ v^^ 0 x*-' ^<^^. ; v _ ^^^.. '.\ ^. '^ .0'^ ^0, ^V ► ■'■'", > .•^> s s ' ' / .. '"c. , .J A ^ ,y«-/ '■*'. ' V^ Kr C'' % %" ■f< ;5- s " ' v\ 0 ■^0 n^- <>' V- A ■ '^•' n"^^ x-Vy?;^,r 00 Y * 0 i^e:-'^^*.. •^ <-" .V ^ A^ '^^- ^* C^''% - .>^ ^. .*^ ■< * A S "■ * * ' .v\ "^ * A^ '-tf. '' ^o^ ■><■ •^^. .<^' THE DUCHESS OF PADUA THE DUCHESS OF PADUA BY OSCAR WILDE NEW YORK F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 1906 * T'Ai) Guyisi fiectivcd I StP 14 906 ^ /S/2S'S 1 Translation Copyright 1906 bt F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY Pucbtss of Padua CHARACTERS. SiMONE Gesso, Duke of Padua. Beatrice^ his wife. Andrea Pollajuolo, Cardinal of Padua. Maffio Petrucci, J Jeppo Vitellozzo^ V Courtiers of the Duke. Taddeo Bardi^ j GuiDo Ferranti. Ascanio Cristofano, his friend. Count Moranzone. Bernardo Cavalcanti^ Chief Judge of Padua. HuGO^ the executioner. Lucia, waiting woman. Servants, Citizens, Soldiers, Falconers, Monks, etc. Place — Padua. Time — The second half of the sixteenth cen- tury. Act I. — Market-place in Padua. Act II. — Room in the ducal palace. Act III. — Corridor in the ducal palace Act IV. — Court of justice. Act V. — Prison. THE DUCHESS OF PADUA ACT FIRST. Market-place in Padua. In the background the cathedral^ built in the Romanesque style of black and white marble. A marble staircase leads to the portal of the building. At the foot of the steps are two huge stone lions. The houses at both sides of the stage have gay awn- ings before the windows and are enclosed by stone arcades. At the right is the fountain, rep- resenting a sea god in green bronze reclining on a couch, blowing a horn. Around the fountain is a stone bench. The bells of the cathedral are ringing, and the citizens, men, women and chil- dren, are flocking in. GuiDO Ferranti and Ascanio Cristofano. AsCANio. As sure as I live, Guido, I won't go a step farther, or my breath will fail — for curs- ing. Such a damnable will o' the wisp wander- ing! {Sits on the bench by the fountain.) Guido. It must be here. {Lifting his cap, he 17] 8 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I Speaks to a passer-by.) Pardon me, sir; is this the market-place and yonder the church of Santa Croce? {Citizen nods.) I thank you. AscANio. Well ? GuiDO. Yes, it is here. AscANio. I would it were somewhere else, for I see no tavern. GuiDO {takes a letter from his pocket and reads). Time — noonday. City — Padua, Place — market. Day — St. Philip's. AscANio. And the man? How shall we rec- ognize him? GuiDO {goes on reading). "I shall wear a vio- let mantle, on whose shoulder is embroidered a silver falcon " a rich garment, Ascanio. AscANio. I would rather have my leather jerkin. And do you believe he will tell you of your father? GuiDO. Certainly. Have you forgotten, it is barely a month ago that I was in Weinberg, at the corner of the street where the goats always come in, when a man rode up the highway and asked me if my name was Guido. He gave me this letter, with the signature : "Your father's friend." In it I was commanded to come here to-day, if I desired to know the secret of my birth. I have always believed old Pietro to be my uncle, but the letter stated this was not so. Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 9 I had only been committed, in my childhood, to his care, by one whom he had never seen again. AscANio. So you don't know who your father is? GuiDo. No. AscANio. Have not even a remembrance of him? GuiDO. None, Ascanio, none. AscANio (laughing). Then you can't have had your ears boxed by him as often as I have by my father. GuiDO (smiling). And of course you never deserved the cuffs. Ascanio. Never, that was the worst of it ; not even the consciousness of guilt swelled my breast. What hour did he appoint? GuiDO. Noon. (The cathedral clock strikes). Ascanio. That time has come now, and your man is not yet here. I don't believe in him, Guido ; it's probably some girl who has cast an eye upon you. I've followed you from Perugia to Padua — as sure as I live, now you shall fol- low me to the nearest tavern. (Rises.) By the great gods of the stomach, Guido, I'm as wild for food as a widow for a husband, as tired of running as a girl of being lectured on virtue, and as dry as a church sermon. Come, Guido, you stand there staring into vacancy like an idiot lO THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I who would like to peer into his own skull. Your man isn't coming. GuiDO. I fear you are right. Ha! {Just as he is preparing to go with Ascanio, Count Mo- ranzone appears in a violet mantle, on whose shoulder is embroidered a silver falcon. He crosses the stage to the cathedral and, as he is about to enter, Guido runs up the steps and touches him.) MoRANZONE. Guido Ferranti, you are punct- ual. GuiDO. Does my father live? MoRANZONE. Yes, he lives — in you. In feat- ures, bearing, walk, and outward man you re- semble him. I hope you also have his noble na- ture. GuiDO. Tell me about my father! I have lived solely for this one moment. MoRANZONE. Let us be alone. Guido. This is my most faithful friend, who for my sake has come with me to Padua; there is no secret which we do not share like brothers. MoRANZONE. There is one secret which you must not confide in him. So bid him go. Guido (to Ascanio). Return in an hour. He does not know that nothing in the world can dim the flawless mirror of our love. So, in an hour. Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA II AscANio. Don't talk with him ; he has the evil eye. GuiDO (laughing). No, no; I have no doubt that he will tell me I am some great noble in Italy, and that long days of joy await us. In an hour, dearest friend. (Exit Ascanio.) Now, tell me of my father. (Sits down on the stone bench.) Was he tall? I'm sure that he sat high upon his horse. Was his hair black? Perhaps 'twas reddish gold, as fire glistens. Was his voice low? Brave heroes sometimes have low tones of voice. Or was it like the clang of the war trumpets that scatter foemen's ranks? Did he ride alone, or was he followed by bands of shield-bearers and valiant troopers? Often I have fancied that royal blood flows in my veins. Was he a king? MoRANZONE. He was the kingliest of men. GuiDO (proudly). Then, when you saw him last, my noble father towered high above other men? MoRANZONE. He towered high above the heads of all men (goes to Guido and lays his hand on his shoulder) upon the scaffold, where his neck awaited the headman's axe. GuiDO (starting up). Who are you, terrible man, who, like the raven, the spectral screech- owl, comes with this message of sorrow from the grave ? 12 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I MoRANzoNE. I am known as Count Moran- zone, lord of a desolate castle among the cliffs, with a few acres of barren land and a small train of servants ; but I was once foremost of Parma's nobles; nay, more than that, I was your father's friend. GuiDO {clasping his hand). Tell me about him! MoRANzoNE. You are the son of Lorenzo, the great Duke, whose standard waved on many a hard-fought field in war against the unbelieving Saracens. He was the Prince of Parma and the Duke of the whole beautiful realm of Lombardy as far as Florence; nay, Florence herself was tributary to GuiDO. Come to his death! MoRANzoNE. You'll hear it soon enough. He was at war — O noble warriors who would never tolerate injustice in Italy — he was leading the chosen flower of knighthood against the Lord of Rimini, the adulterer, Giovanni Malatesta — may God punish him — and was treacherously lured by him into an ambush, fettered like a slave and, like a scoundrel, like a base-born hind, slain on the public scaffold. GuiDO (grasping his dagger). And Malatesta lives ? MoRANzoNE. No; he is dead. Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA I3 GuiDO. Dead, did you say? Oh, all too nim- ble Death, hadst thou but waited a brief time for me, I would have filled your office. MoRANzoNE (clutching his wrist). You can do so still ! The man who sold him is yet alive. GuiDO. Sold? My father sold? MoRANZONE. Bartered like an ox; betrayed for a large reward, exchanged, bargained for in a secret market by him whom he believed a model friend, in whom he trusted, whom he treasured in his heart, bound to him by the ties of kindness. He who sows kindness on this earth will reap only ingratitude. GuiDO. And the man who sold him lives I MoRANZONE. I will take you to him. GuiDo. So you live, Judas? Well, I'll make the world your potter's field. Buy it at once, for you must hang there. MoRANZONE. Judas, did you say? Yes, Judas in treachery, but he was more crafty than Judas, for thirty pieces of silver seemed to him too small a price. GuiDO. How much was given for my father's head? MoRANZONE. How much ? Why, cities, fiefs, principalities, vineyards, provinces ! GuiDO. Of which he shall keep only six feet to rot in. Where is the accursed scoundrel — 14 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA fAct I where? Show me the man and, though he were mailed in steel from head to foot, cased and en- closed in armor, nay, even if he were defended by a thousand troopers, I'll strike him through their wall of spears and see the last drops of his black heart's blood trickle from my blade. The man, — I'll make him cold ! MoRANZONE (calmly). Do you call that ven- geance, fool? Death is the earthly lot of all men, and if he comes suddenly, that is a gain. (Goes close to Guido.) Your father was sold — let that be your watchword. You must sell the seller! You must serve at his court, must eat the same bread with him, at the same table Guido. Oh, bitter bread! MoRANzoNE. Your palate is too delicate ; ven- geance will sweeten it. In the evening you must be his boon companion at the drinking bouts, his bosom friend, that he may cling to you, love you, confide to you all his intrigues. If he bids you be merry, laugh; if he chooses a serious mood, put on weeds of woe. When the time is ripe — {Guido grasps his szvord). No, no, I will not trust you ; your hot blood, your unbridled na- ture, your youth will not wait for this ven- geance, but shatter it by your fury. Guido. You do not know me. Name the man. I will follow your counsel in every point. Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA I5 MoRANzoNE. When the time is at hand, the victim lulled to sleep, the hour favorable, then I will secretly send you by a swift messenger a sign. GuiDO. Tell me, how is he to die? MoRANZONE. You must that night climb to his sleeping room — mark this well ! GuiDO. Have no fear ! MoRANZONE. I do not know whether the guilty sleep, but if he does, first wake him and seize him by the throat — so, do you see? And when you have told him whose blood runs in your veins, whose son you are, and what is the meaning of your vengeance, then let him, if he pleads, beg you for mercy. Let him offer you treasures for his life, and when he has stripped himself of all his gold, tell him, 'T need no gold, I know no mercy," and straightway do your duty. Now, swear that you will not murder him till I command, or I will go back home and leave you ignorant, your father unavenged. GuiDO. I swear it to you by my father's ban- ner MoRANZONE. The executioner tore it to tat- ters in the public market place. GuiDO. By my father's grave MoRANZONE. By what grave? Your noble father rests within no grave. His dust was scat- 1 6 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I tered in the air, his ashes were whirled by the wind through the city Hke the chaff that stings the beggars' eyes. His head was impaled outside the prison, adorned in mockery with a paper crown, that the insolent mob might jeer at his features. GuiDO. Was it so? By my father's stainless name, by the basely cruel manner of his death, by his friend's shameless villainy — by all these I swear I will not lay hands upon his life till you command, then — God protect his soul, for he shall die far worse than any dog. And now the sign? MoRANzoNE. This dagger, my son, your fa- ther's dagger. GuiDO. Oh, let me look at it ! Now I remem- ber that my supposed uncle, the good old man, spoke of a cloak — I was wrapped in it when an infant — on which two such leopards were em- broidered in gold. I like them better in steel, like these; they suit their purpose more aptly. Tell me, my lord, have you no message from my father ? MoRANZONE. You ncvcr saw your father, my son. When his false friend had betrayed him, I alone of all his nobles escaped to bear the news to the Duchess of Parma. GuiDo. Tell me of my mother! Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA I7 MoRANZONE. Your mother — no saint was purer — fell fainting at the tidings, was prema- turely seized with the pangs of childbirth — she had been married only seven months — and brought you into the world before the time. Then her soul flew heavenward to receive your father at the gate of paradise. GuiDO. My mother dead, my father offered for sale ! I feel as if I stood upon an encircling wall, and messenger after messenger approached bringing bad news; let me take breath, my ears are weary. MoRANZONE. When your mother died, fear- ing our foes, I spread the rumor that you had died too ; then, carrying you away, I took you to a faithful servant who lives at Perugia. You know the rest. GuiDO. Did you see my father again ? MoRANZONE. Yes, once. In the shabby gar- ments of a vine-dresser I stole to Rimini. GuiDO (clasping his hand). Oh, noble heart! MoRANZONE. Everything is for sale in Rim- ini. I bought his guards ! When your father heard that a son was born to him, his face shone brightly underneath his helmet like the distant glow of firelight on the sea. Clasping my hands, he besought me to rear you to be worthy of him 1 8 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I — I did so. Now revenge his death on the false friend ! GuiDO. In my father's place, I thank you for it. Now the name? MoRANZONE. How you remind me of him! In every movement you resemble him. GuiDO. The scoundrel's name ! MoRANZONE. You sliall learn it presently. The Duke is already on the way here with his court. GuiDO. What does this mean? His name! MoRANzoNE. Do you not think they are a valiant band of honorable, stately gentlemen? GuiDO. The name. Count! (The Duke of Padua appears, with Count Bardi, Maffio, Pe- triicci, and other gentlemen of his court.) MoRANzONE {quickly). The man before whom I kneel is your father's murderer. Pay heed! GuiDO {gripping his dagger). The Duke I MoRANZONE. Loose your fingers from the steel! Do you forget so soon? {Kneels before the Duke.) My noble lord! Duke. I greet you, Count Moranzone; it is long since we have seen you in Padua. We hunted yesterday near your castle — do you call it castle? That dreary house where you sit mum- bling over your rosary and confessing like a Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA IQ good old man. I shall probably never be a good old man. God would weary of the confession of my sins. {Sees Guido and starts.) Who is this? MoRANZONE. My sister's son, Your Grace. Being now old enough to bear arms, he would like to remain for a time at court. Duke (still gazing at Guido). What is his name? MoRANZONE. Guido Ferranti, my lord. Duke. From what city? MoRANZONE. He comes from Mantua. Duke {approaching Guido). You have the eyes of a man I knew, but he died childless. You wish to serve me ; soldiers are needed. Are you honorable, youth? Then, don't practice usury on me with your honor. Keep it for yourself. In Padua reputation is deemed brag- gadocio, so it is out of fashion. Just look at these gentlemen! They smell of amber and sweet perfumes. Bardi {aside). The poisoned arrow is evi- dently aimed at us. Duke. Each man whom you see yonder has his price, though — to be just — some of them are dear. Bardi {aside). I suspected it. Duke. So don't be honorable. Singularity is not conducive to advancement, though in our 20 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I shallow, insipid times the most extraordinary thing a man can do is to be sensible, for then the populace jeers at him. Scorn the mob as I do ! Their praise is froth, and their vain favor I despise; popularity with the people is the one affront I have never known. Maffio (aside). He'll not lack hatred, if he needs it. Duke. Be wise ; in your dealings with the world tame your ardor ! Think twice ! The first suggestion is usually good. GuiDO (aside). A toad sits on his lips and scatters its venom from them. Duke. See that you have enemies, or the world will set no special value on you. It con- siders them a sign of power. But show the smil- ing mask of friendship to every one until you have him firmly in your grasp. Then crush him ! GuiDO (aside). O wise philosopher! You are digging a deep pit for yourself. MoRANzoNE (to Guido) . Do you note his words ? Guido. Only too well. Duke. Be not too conscientious either; the hand which is clean but empty offers a pitiable spectacle. If you desire the lion's share of life, wear a fox's skin. It will fit you ; it is a coat that fits every man — the fat and the lean, the tall Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 21 and the short; whoever makes such a coat for you is a tailor who will never lack customers. GuiDO. I will remember it, Your Grace. Duke. Right, my boy, right ! I want no shal- low fools around me, who weigh life's gold with sordid scruples and move with wavering, uncer- tain tread. Failure is the only crime I know not. Let me have men about me. And con- science is but a name which renegade Cowardice scrawls upon his shield. Have you understood, boy? GuiDO. Yes, Your Grace; I'll follow your counsel in everything. Maffio. I never found Your Grace so much inclined to preach. The Cardinal must look to his laurels. Duke. My gospel is practiced by the world; his is prated. I care little for the Cardinal, though he may be a pious churchman, and do not deny his tediousness. Well, then, from to-day we will number you among our courtiers. {He holds out his hand for Giiido to kiss. Guido starts back in horror, but at a gesture from Count Moranzone, kneels and kisses it.) Henceforth you shall be equipped as becomes our court and your rank. GuiDO. I heartily thank Your Grace. Duke. Once more, what was your name? 22 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I GuiDO. Guido Ferranti, my lord. Duke. From Mantua? Take heed to your wives, now such a handsome gallant has come to Padua. You have good cause to laugh, Count Bardi, for I know how carefree is the man beside whose hearth a charmless woman sits. Maffio. By your leave, Your Grace, the women of Padua are proof against suspicion. Duke. Are they all ugly ? Come ! The Car- dinal is keeping our devout wife a long time ; his sermon and his beard ought to be cut. Will you attend us. Count, and listen with us to a text from Hieronymus? MoRANZONE (bowing). My lord, unfor- tunately Duke (interrupting him). I'll spare you the excuse if you want to miss the mass. Now, come. (Exit with his train into the cathedral.) Guido (after a pause). My father was the Duke's victim, and I kissed his hand. MoRANZONE. In future, do so often ! Guido. Must I ? MoRANZONE. Yes ! You have taken an oath. Guido. It will turn me to stone. MoRANZONE. Farewell, my son; you will not see me again until the time has come. Guido. Let it be soon, I beseech you. Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 23 MoRANzoNE. I shall be on the spot when the hour is at hand. Be ready. GuiDO. Fear nothing. MoRANzoNE. Here is your friend. Banish him from Padua and your heart. GuiDo. From Padua, yes ; from my heart, no. MoRANzoNE. Yes, at once. I will not leave you until you have done it. GuiDo. Will you grant me no friend? MoRANZONE. Take vengeance for your friend. You need no other. GuiDo. Well, then, be it so ! {Ascanio Cristo- fano enters.) Ascanio. Guido, I've stolen a march on you in everything. Fve drunk a bottle of wine, eaten a pasty, and kissed the waitress. You look as melancholy as a schoolboy who can't buy him- self an apple, or a politician who can't sell his vote. What news is there, Guido? GuiDO. Ascanio, we two must bid each other farewell. Ascanio. That would certainly be news, but it isn't true. GuiDo. Too true, Ascanio ; you must go now, and never look upon my face again. Ascanio. No, no ; you really do not know me, my Guido. Though I am only a plain farmer's son, ill-trained in courtly manners, I can still, 24 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I if your birth is noble, be your serving man. I will be more faithful than any hireling. GuiDO (clasping his hand). Ascanio ! (Sees Moranzone's threatening glance and lets Ascan- io's hand fall.) It cannot be. Ascanio. What, is that your feeling? I thought the loyal friendship of the ancient world was not yet dead, that the Roman model still found its counterpart in our shallow, common- place times. By this love, which flows as placid- ly as the sea in summer, may I not share what- ever fate has fallen to your lot? GuiDo. Share ? Ascanio. Yes ! GuiDo. No, no. Ascanio. Has any heritage come to you — a castle with turrets or piles of gold? GuiDO (bitterly). Yes, I have entered into my inheritance. Oh, bloody legacy; Oh, cruel fate ! I must guard it as anxiously as a miser, and keep it for myself. So, I entreat you, leave me. Ascanio. What? Shall we never again sit hand in hand as in the days of old, so absorbed in some ancient book of chivalry that head pressed head? Shall we never again steal out of school and follow the huntsmen in the autumn through the forests, see the falcons as they loose Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 2$ them from the thong when the hare springs from the thicket? GuiDO. Never again. AscANio. Must I leave you without one kind word? GuiDO. Leave me ; may love follow you. AscANio. Your conduct is unknightly — base. GuiDO. Unknightly, base — if you choose. Why waste unnecessary words ? Farewell ! AscANio. Have you no word of kindness, Guido ? GuiDO. No. Everything lies behind me like a dream. To-day my life begins. Farewell ! AscANio. Farewell! (Exit slowly.) GuiDO. Well, are you satisfied now? Did you not see how I thrust from me my friend, my dearest comrade, as if he were some scullion? Oh, that I should do it! Are you not content iiozvf IMoRANzoNE. I am. Now my way leads me back to my desolate fortress in the mountains. Remember the sign — your father's dagger, and when I send it to you, do the deed ! Guido. You may be sure of that. (Exit Count Moranzone.) Oh, thou eternal Heaven, if there still lingers in my soul one touch of na- ture, of fair compassion, of sweet friendship, let it wither, sear and destroy it, for if thou dost not, 26 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I I myself must cut pity from my heart with the sharp edge of steel, must strangle mercy at night, mid sleep, that she may not speak. Vengeance is the watchword ! Be thou my bedfellow, my com- rade; sit thou beside me, ride to the hunt with me ; when I am weary sing to me beautiful songs, and when I am cheerful jest with me, and when I dream whisper into my ear the horrible tidings of my father's murder — did I say murder? {Drazvs his dagger.) Oh, hear me, God of Ter- ror, who dost punish all perjury; let angels in- scribe in characters of flame this oath, that hence- forth, until I have expiated with blood my fa- ther's murder, I solemnly renounce the noble bonds of honorable friendship, the noble joys of social intercourse, the ties of affection and loyal gratitude ; nay, more — from this hour I renounce the love of women and the idle toy called beauty. (The organ in the cathedral peals forth. Be- neath a canopy embroidered in silver, home by four scarlet-clad pages, the Duchess of Padua de- scends the steps; as she passes her eyes meet Guido's a moment, and as she leaves the stage she glances back at him; the dagger falls from his hand.) Tell me, who is that? A Citizen. The Duchess of Padua ! Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA T.'J ACT II. Magnificent room in the ducal palace. The tapestries on the walls represent the procession of Venus. A zvide doorzvay in the center leads to a colonnade with red marble pillars, through which is a view of Padua. At the right a large canopy above three thrones, one of which stands somewhat lower than the other two. The ceiling is ornamented with long, gilded rays. Furniture in the style of the times; the chairs are covered with gilt leather, the sideboards are filled with gold and silver utensils, and the chests are paint- ed with mythological scenes. A number of cour- tiers are standing in the colonnade outside, look- ing down into the street, from which rises the roar of a mob and shouts of "Down with the Duke." After a short interval the Duke enters very calmly. He is leaning on Guido Ferranti's arm. The Cardinal enters with him. The out- cry still continues. Duke. No, Cardinal, I am utterly weary of her, for she is even worse than ugly — good. 28 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II Maffio (excitedly). Two thousand people, Your Highness, have assembled, and are shout- ing more insolently every moment. Duke. Pshaw, they are wasting the strength of their lungs ! Those who roar so loudly, gen- tlemen, will do us no harm. The only malcon- tents I fear are the quiet ones. (Howls of the populace.) See how my people love me. Car- dinal ; they are giving me a serenade which I would rather hear than the most fanciful mel- odies on the lute. Is it not a delight to listen to it? (Renezved cries.) A pity that they have dropped a little out of time ; my soldiers ought to shoot them for it. I can't endure caterwaul- ing. Petrucci, go tell the captain of our guards below to clear the square. Is your hearing bad? Do what I order. (Exit Petrucci.) Cardinal. I beseech Your Grace, listen to their misery! Duke (seating himself on the throne). Yes, yes, the pears to-day are by no means as large as usual. Pardon me. Cardinal, I thought you were speaking of pears. (Shouts of joy from the peo- ple.) What is that? GuiDO (rushes to the window). The Duchess is in the square; she has stepped between the soldiers and the populace to prevent the firing. Duke. The devil ! Act 11] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 2g GuiDO (still at the window). Now, with a dozen citizens, she is just entering the palace. Duke {starting up). The Duchess, by heaven, is presuming a great deal ! Bardi. She is coming. Duke. Shut that door ; the morning air is cold. {The door leading to the colonnade is closed. The Duchess enters with a group of shabbily dressed citizens.) Beatrice {throwing herself upon her knees). I beseech Your Grace to hear us. Duke. Am I a tailor, noble lady, that you ap- pear before me with such a ragged rabble ? Beatrice. The rags, I think, should proclaim their want more eloquently than I can do. Duke. In what does the want consist? Beatrice. Alas, my husband, common things, of which neither you, nor I, nor any of these noble gentlemen need ever have even the most distant thought. The very bread they eat is baked from half-rotten chaff. First Citizen. Yes, nothing but chaff. Duke. Excellent food ; I give it to my horses. Beatrice {controlling herself). And the wa- ter which fills the city cisterns has been befouled, by the breaking of the aqueducts, into swampy pools and miry puddles. 30 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act 11 Duke. Drink wine, for water is always un- healthy. Second Citizen. Alas, Your Grace, the duties demanded at the city gates have grown so high that wine is not for us. Duke. Then praise the duties which keep you sober. Beatrice. Consider; we shine in pomp and splendor here, and lack for nothing which luxury and wealth can offer, with an army of servants who await every sign, while through their sun- less alleys gaunt poverty steals, secretly and noiselessly piercing the warm throats of the little children with its keen knife. Third Citizen. Yes, indeed, that's true. My little boy died last night of hunger ; he was just six years old. I am so poor I cannot bury him. Duke. If you are poor, are you not to be called happy on that account? Why, poverty is a Christian ornament. {To the Cardinal.) Isn't that true? You, Cardinal, I know, have large estates, fat livings, tithes and landed property in return for preaching voluntary poverty. Beatrice. My noble Duke, my husband, be merciful ! While we sit here within proud halls, with colonnades to shut out the sun, with walls- and roofs to banish winter, there are many citi- zens in Padua lodged in such wretched hovels Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 3 1 that rain, snow, and harsh winds are constant guests. Others sleep at night in autumn under the arches of the city bridges, till the damp mist stiffens their limbs and fever comes, and then — Duke. They are well sheltered in Abraham's bosom. Those who are so wretched here I send to heaven. Where is their gratitude for it ? {To the Cardinal.) Is it not written in one of the passages of Holy Scripture that each human be- ing should be contented with the lot appointed by God? Why must I change, meddle with the work of a wise Providence? It has ordained that some should starve while others feast. The world is not my work. First Citizen. He has a hard heart. Second Citizen. Keep quiet, neighbor. I hope the Cardinal will intercede for us. Cardinal. To bear poverty is indeed a Chris- tian duty, for God bestows a rich recompense upon it; yet it is no less Christian to be merciful, to appease hunger and heal suffering. It seems that there are many wrongs here in this city which your wisdom should reform. First Citizen. What is that — to reform? What does it mean ? Second Citizen. Oh, it means to leave every- thing just as it is. That isn't my case. Duke. Reform ! You, Cardinal, to talk of re- 3^ THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II form? There lives in Germany a man named Luther, who reformed your Roman CathoHc Church. Did you not denounce him as a heretic and excommunicate him? Cardinal (rising). He led the flock out of the fold; we only ask you to feed the sheep. Duke. When I have sheared their fleece I'll feed them. But the rebels (The Duchess implores him.) First Citizen. Hark! One kind word, he will give us something. Second Citizen. Do you think so? Duke. This ragged pack that appears before me, with mouths overflowing with treachery Third Citizen. Oh, noble lord, fill them with bread ; then we will keep them shut. Duke. You shall keep them shut, hungry or full. The times have grown so comfortable for 3^ou gentry that the peasant lout scarcely lifts his cap unless he gets a drubbing, and the day-la- borer jostles the nobleman on the public highway. But God has appointed me a scourge for this pack, to lash them for their sins. Beatrice. By what right? Are you so free from sins? Duke. When virtue chastises sin, it is noth- ing; but when sin scourges sin, God rejoices. Beatrice. Where is fear? Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 33 Duke. Have I anything to dread? The foe of men, am I not the friend of God? {To the citizens.) Well, my good, faithful Paduans, out of regard for the entreaties of the Duchess — to refuse the petition of so fair an advocate would offend love and courtesy — I promise this to re- lieve your need : First Citizen. Now he'll lower the taxes ! Second Citizen. Or order a loaf of bread to be given to every man. Duke. On Sunday next, after mass, the Car- dinal shall choose for his sermon the text, How beautiful is obedience! {The citizens 7nurmur.) First Citizen. That won't fill our stomachs. Second Citizen. A sermon is but a thin sauce, if one has nothing else. Beatrice. You poor people ! You see, I have no influence on the Duke ; but if you will go to the palace courtyard, the treasurer shall distrib- ute from my own strong box, in which gold is not always plentiful, a hundred ducats among you. Almoner. A hundred ducats is all the ready money in it. Beatrice. Give what I have. First Citizen. May God guard the Duchess. Second Citizen. God guard her ! Beatrice. And every Monday morning bread 34 THE DUCHEiSS OF PADUA [Act it shall be distributed among the needy. (Exit citizens amid signs of applause.) First Citizen {as he goes out). God guard the Duchess for the second time ! Duke {calling him hack). Come here, fellow! What is your name ? First Citizen. Dominick, my lord. Duke. A fine name ! Why did you happen to be called Dominick? First Citizen {scratching his head). Be- cause I was born on St. George's day. Duke. A good reason ! There's a ducat for you ! Now shout also : God guard the Duke ! First Citizen {faintly). God guard the Duke! Duke. Louder, fellow, louder ! First Citizen {somewhat louder). God guard the Duke ! Duke. More joyously, varlet; put more feel- ing into it! Here's another ducat for you. First Citizen {enthusiastically). God guard the Duke I Duke {scornfully). Gentlemen, the love of this plain man touches me deeply. {Turning angrily to the citizen.) Begone! {Exit citizen, bowing.) This is the way the favor of the popu- lace is bought in these times. Yes, we are noth- ing if not democratic. {To the Duchess.) Well, Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 35 Madame, you stir up rebellion among our citi- zens, and by your daily alms have cunningly won the love of the common people. I'll not permit it. Beatrice (zvith a glance at Giiido). You are mistaken, my husband ; I am not loved. Duke. I will not have you give bread to the poor merely because they are hungry. Beatrice. The poor have unassailable rights, the right to pity and the right to mercy. Duke. Do you argue with me? So this is the woman for whose sake I resigned three of the fairest cities of Italy, Pisa, Genoa and Or- vieto. Beatrice. Promised, my lord, but not per- formed. You broke your word, as usual. Duke. You wrong me ; there were reasons of state Beatrice. What reasons can there be to break a sacred promise? Duke. In a forest near Pisa there are wild boars close to the city. When I promised Pisa to your confiding father I had forgotten that there was good hunting there. Beatrice. One who is forgetful of honor, my husband, remembers nothing else. Duke. In Genoa, it is said — I do not doubt it — that there are more red barbels in the har- 36 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II bor than anywhere else in this country {To one of the courtiers.) You, my lord, who have be- held your Baal in gluttony, might prove it to our Duchess. Beatrice. And Orvieto? Duke {yawning). I've forgotten now why I did not give him Orvieto, according to the wording of our contract. Perhaps I was not in- clined to do it. {Goes to the Duchess.) Yes, look around you ; here you are alone. It is many a dusty mile to France, and even there your fa- ther has at his court only a hundred beggarly knights. Do you still hope? Which of these gentlemen, the noble cavaliers of Padua, is loyal to you? Beatrice. Not one. {Gtiido starts, but con- trols himself.) Duke. Nor will be, so long as I am Duke of Padua. Hear me : IVe had enough of your gra- cious manners. You are my property; you will do what I command. If I choose to keep you in the house, this palace here will be your prison, and if I choose that you shall go out, from morn- ing till night you will be in the open air. Beatrice. By what right? Duke. The second Duchess once asked me that same question. You will see her monument in the Church of St. Bartholomew, carved in red Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 37 marble — very beautiful ! Give me your arm, Guido ! Gentlemen, let us cast the falcons for their noonday flight. Consider, you are alone here, noble lady {Exit Duke, leaning on Guido, with his train.) Beatrice (looking after them). Strange that one apparently blameless loves the Duke, hangs on his lips, which cruelly poison every word, and never leaves him, as if he belonged to him. What does it mean? I cannot understand it. I stand alone, inaccessible to love. The Duke says truly that I am alone, forsaken and dishon- ored, and calumniated. Was ever any woman so utterly alone as I? The wooer calls us pretty children, says we are not capable of moulding our lives, so he destroys them for us. Did I say "wooers"? We are their property, their slaves, less petted than the dog which licks them, the falcon on their wrists. Did I say "wooers"? No, sold, bartered, for our very bodies are wares to them. I know it is the usual lot of woman. Her life, yoked to an unloved husband, is shat- tered by his selfishness ; and that it is usual makes it no less bitter. It seems to me I never heard a w^oman laugh, laugh from pure mirthfulness — except one. That was at night in the public street — poor soul. She had painted lips ; she wore the mask of pleasure over her anguish, and 38 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II laughed. I would not wish to laugh as she did. Death would be better. (Guido enters at back of stage unnoticed; the Duchess throzvs herself dozvn before an image of the Madonna.) Mary, with the sweet, pale face, surrounded by the lit- tle angel heads that hover about thee, knowest thou no help for me ? Oh, Mother of God, know- est thou no help ? Guido. No, I can bear it no longer. I will speak to her, to my love. Lady, am I included in your prayer? Beatrice (rising). Only the wretched need my prayers. Guido. Then in truth I need them. Beatrice. Why? Does not the Duke show you honor enough? Do you lack advancement at court? It is not in my power to give it to you. I have no influence here. Guido. I do not lack favor from the Duke, Your Grace, whom my soul hates as it does corruption. I come upon my knees to offer you the most loyal services unto death. Beatrice. Alas ! I have fallen so low in rank that I can reward you only with niggardly thanks. Guido (seising her hand). Not with love? (The Duchess starts back; Guido falls at her feet.) Oh, dear saint, forgive me; I have been Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 39 too bold. Your charms fire my young blood. When my lips humbly touch your hand every nerve quivers so wildly with passion that, to gain your love, I would fear nothing. (Starts up.) Command me to set forth and win fame from the lion's jaws. I would struggle with the Ne- msean monster in the desert sands ! Cast into the gulf of war a ribbon, a flower, a bit of tinsel, anything which has once touched you; I will bring it back unharmed from conflict with all the armies of Christendom. Nay, more than that, bid me climb the white clififs of mighty Eng- land, and from her insolent shield efface the lilies of your France, which England, that lioness of the sea, has wrested from her. Oh, dear Be- atrice, drive me not away, for the minutes crawl on leaden feet without you; but when I gaze at your loveliness the hours fly like winged Mer- curies, and the world shines in golden radiance. Beatrice. I did not think I should ever be loved. Do you really love me as infinitely as you now protest? GuiDO. Ask the seagull whether it loves the waves ; ask the roses whether they love the rain ; ask the lark that will not sing before the dawn whether it loves the day — and yet these are but empty images, mere shadows of my love, which 40 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II is a fire that all the waters of the ocean would not suffice to quench. Speak but one word ! Beatrice. I scarcely know what I ought to say to you. GuiDO. Then say that you love me ! Beatrice. Is that the regulation? And must it be said at once? It would be well, if I did really love you; but if not, what shall I say to you then? GuiDO. If you do not love me, still say you do, for on your tongue the lie would shame the truth. Beatrice. And if I remain perfectly silent? Lovers, they say, are happiest when they doubt. GuiDO. No, doubt would kill me, and if die I must, let me die of joy, not of doubt. Oh, tell me, may I stay ? Must I go ? Beatrice. I would rather have you neither stay nor go. For if you stay, you'll steal my love from me, and if you go, you will take it with you. If all the morning stars could sing, they could not tell the measure of my love. Guido, I love you. GuiDO (with outstretched arms). Oh, do not stop! I thought the nightingale sang only at night; yet if you must be silent, let my lips find yours, which sound so sweet. Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 4I Beatrice. My lips will not give you my heart. GuiDO. Do you shut me out from it? Beatrice. Oh, my master, it is mine no longer; the first day that I saw you I suffered you to steal it; a thief against my will, whom you brought recklessly into my walled treasure- house, and purloined my jewel ! Strange rob- bery, w^hich enriched you, without your knowing it, and left me poorer, and yet full of joy. 