by Oscar Wilde
MORANZONE: What did you say?
MISTRESS LUCY: Why, marry, that it was with the Duchess’s dagger that the Duke was killed.
MORANZONE (aside): There is some mystery about this: I cannot understand it.
SECOND CITIZEN: They be very long a-coming.
FIRST CITIZEN: I warrant they will come soon enough for the prisoner.
TIPSTAFF: Silence in the Court!
FIRST CITIZEN: Thou dost break silence in bidding us keep it, Master Tipstaff.
Enter the LORD JUSTICE and the other Judges.
SECOND CITIZEN: Who is he in scarlet? Is he the headsman?
THIRD CITIZEN: Nay, he is the Lord Justice.
Enter GUIDO guarded.
SECOND CITIZEN: There be the prisoner surely.
THIRD CITIZEN: He looks honest.
FIRST CITIZEN: That be his villainy: knaves nowadays do look so honest that honest folk are forced to look like knaves so as to be different.
Enter the Headsman, who takes his stand behind GUIDO.
SECOND CITIZEN: Yon be the headsman then! O Lord! Is the axe sharp, think you?
FIRST CITIZEN: Ay! Sharper than thy wits are; but the edge is not towards him, mark you.
SECOND CITIZEN (scratching his neck): I’ faith, I like it not so near.
FIRST CITIZEN: Tut, thou need’st not be afraid; they never cut the heads of common folk: they do but hang us.
Trumpets outside.
THIRD CITIZEN: What are the trumpets for? Is the trial over?
FIRST CITIZEN: Nay, ‘tis for the Duchess.
Enter the DUCHESS in black velvet; her train of flowered black velvet is carried by two pages in violet; with her is the CARDINAL in scarlet, and the gentlemen of the Court in black; she takes her seat on the throne above the Judges, who rise and take their caps off as she enters; the CARDINAL sits next to her a little lower; the Courtiers group themselves about the throne.
SECOND CITIZEN: O poor lady, how pale she is! Will she sit there?
FIRST CITIZEN: Ay! She is in the Duke’s place now.
SECOND CITIZEN: That is a good thing for Padua; the Duchess is a very kind and merciful Duchess; why, she cured my child of the ague once.
THIRD CITIZEN: Ay, and has given us bread: do not forget the bread.
A SOLDIER: Stand back, good people.
SECOND CITIZEN: If we be good, why should we stand back?
TIPSTAFF: Silence in the Court!
LORD JUSTICE: May it please your Grace, Is it your pleasure we proceed to trial of the Duke’s murder?
DUCHESS bows.
Set the prisoner forth.
What is thy name?
GUIDO: It matters not, my lord.
LORD JUSTICE: Guido Ferranti is thy name in Padua.
GUIDO: A man may die as well under that name as any other.
LORD JUSTICE: Thou art not ignorant
What dreadful charge men lay against thee here,
Namely, the treacherous murder of thy Lord,
Simone Gesso, Duke of Padua;
What dost thou say in answer?
GUIDO: I say nothing.
LORD JUSTICE: Dost thou admit this accusation, then?
GUIDO: I admit naught, and yet I naught deny.
I pray thee, my Lord Justice, be as brief
As the Court’s custom and the laws allow.
I will not speak.
LORD JUSTICE: Why, then, it cannot be
That of this murder thou art innocent,
But rather that thy stony obstinate heart
Hath shut its doors against the voice of justice.
Think not thy silence will avail thee aught,
‘Twill rather aggravate thy desperate guilt,
Of which indeed we are most well assured;
Again I bid thee speak.
GUIDO: I will say nothing.
LORD JUSTICE: Then naught remains for me but to pronounce Upon thy head the sentence of swift Death.
GUIDO: I pray thee give thy message speedily.
Thou couldst not bring me anything more dear.
LORD JUSTICE (rising): Guido Ferranti –
MORANZONE (stepping from the crowd): Tarry, my Lord Justice.
LORD JUSTICE: Who art thou that bid’st justice tarry, sir?
MORANZONE: So be it justice it can go its way;
But if it be not justice –
LORD JUSTICE: Who is this?
COUNT BARDI: A very noble gentleman, and well known To the late Duke.
LORD JUSTICE: Sir, thou art come in time
To see the murder of the Duke avenged.
There stands the man who did this heinous thing.
MORANZONE: Has merely blind suspicion fixed on him,
Or have ye any proof he did the deed?
LORD JUSTICE: Thrice has the Court entreated him to speak,
But surely guilt weighs heavy on the tongue,
For he says nothing in defence, nor tries
To purge himself of this most dread account,
Which innocence would surely do.
MORANZONE: My lord,
I ask again what proof have ye?
LORD JUSTICE (holding up the dagger): This dagger,
Which from his blood-stained hands, itself all blood,
Last night the soldiers seized: what further proof
Need we indeed?
MORANZONE (takes the dagger and approaches the DUCHESS): Saw I not such a dagger
Hang from your Grace’s girdle yesterday?
The DUCHESS shudders and makes no answer.
Ah! my Lord Justice, may I speak a moment
With this young man, who in such peril stands?
LORD JUSTICE: Ay, willingly, my lord, and may you turn him
To make a full avowal of his guilt.
LORD MORANZONE goes over to GUIDO, who stands R. and clutches him by the hand.
MORANZONE (in a low voice): She did it! Nay, I saw it in her eyes.
Boy, dost thou think I’ll let thy father’s son
Be by this woman butchered to his death?
Her husband sold your father, and the wife
Would sell the son in turn.
GUIDO: Lord Moranzone,
I alone did this thing: be satisfied,
My father is avenged.
MORANZONE: Enough, enough,
I know you did not kill him; had it been you,
Your father’s dagger, not this woman’s toy,
Had done the business: see how she glares at us!
By heaven, I will tear off that marble mask,
And tax her with this murder before all.
GUIDO: You shall not do it.
MORANZONE: Nay, be sure I shall.
GUIDO: My lord, you must not dare to speak.
MORANZONE: Why not?
If she is innocent she can prove it so;
If guilty, let her die.
GUIDO: What shall I do?
MORANZONE: Or thou or I shall tell the truth in Court.
GUIDO: The truth is that I did it.
MORANZONE: Sayest thou so?
Well, I will see what the good Duchess says.
GUIDO: No, no, I’ll tell the tale.
MORANZONE: That is well, Guido.
Her sins be on her head and not on thine.
Did she not give you to the guard?
GUIDO: She did.
MORANZONE: Then upon her revenge thy father’s death: She was the wife of Judas.
GUIDO: Ay, she was.
MORANZONE: I think you need no prompting now to do it,
Though you were weak and like a boy last night.
GUIDO: Weak like a boy, was I indeed last night?
Be sure I will not be like that to-day.
LORD JUSTICE: Doth he confess?
GUIDO: My lord, I do confess.
That foul unnatural murder has been done.
FIRST CITIZEN: Why, look at that: he has a pitiful heart, and does not like murder; they will let him go for that.
LORD JUST
ICE: Say you no more?
GUIDO: My lord, I say this also, That to spill human blood is deadly sin.
SECOND CITIZEN: Marry, he should tell that to the headsman: ‘tis a good sentiment.
GUIDO: Lastly, my lord, I do entreat the Court
To give me leave to utter openly
The dreadful secret of this mystery,
And to point out the very guilty one
Who with this dagger last night slew the Duke.
LORD JUSTICE: Thou hast leave to speak.
DUCHESS (rising): I say he shall not speak:
What need have we of further evidence?
Was he not taken in the house at night
In Guilt’s own bloody livery.
LORD JUSTICE (showing her the statute): Your Grace Can read the law.
DUCHESS (waiving book aside): Bethink you, my Lord Justice,
Is it not very like that such a one
May, in the presence of the people here,
Utter some slanderous word against my Lord,
Against the city, or the city’s honour,
Perchance against myself.
LORD JUSTICE: My liege, the law.
DUCHESS: He shall not speak, but, with gags in his mouth,
Shall climb the ladder to the bloody block.
LORD JUSTICE: The law, my liege.
DUCHESS: We are not bound by law,
But with it we bind others.
MORANZONE: My Lord Justice,
Thou wilt not suffer this injustice here.
LORD JUSTICE: The Court needs not thy voice, Lord Moranzone.
Madam, it were a precedent most evil
To wrest the law from its appointed course,
For, though the cause be just, yet anarchy
Might on this licence touch these golden scales
And unjust causes unjust victories gain.
COUNT BARDI: I do not think your Grace can stay the law.
DUCHESS: Ay, it is well to preach and prate of law:
Methinks, my haughty lords of Padua,
If ye are hurt in pocket or estate,
So much as makes your monstrous revenues
Less by the value of one ferry toll,
Ye do not wait the tedious law’s delay
With such sweet patience as ye counsel me.
COUNT BARDI: Madam, I think you wrong our nobles here.
DUCHESS: I think I wrong them not. Which of ye all
Finding a thief within his house at night,
With some poor chattel thrust into his rags,
Will stop and parley with him? Do ye not
Give him unto the officer and his hook
To be dragged gaolwards straightway? And so now,
Had ye been men, finding this fellow here,
With my Lord’s life still hot upon his hands,
Ye would have haled him out into the court,
And struck his head off with an axe.
GUIDO: O God!
DUCHESS: Speak, my Lord Justice.
LORD JUSTICE: Your Grace, it cannot be:
The laws of Padua are most certain here:
And by those laws the common murderer even
May with his own lips plead, and make defence.
DUCHESS: Tarry a little with thy righteousness.
This is no common murderer, Lord Justice,
But a great outlaw, and a most vile traitor,
Taken in open arms against the state.
For he who slays the man who rules a state
Slays the state also, widows every wife,
And makes each child an orphan, and no less
Is to be held a public enemy,
Than if he came with mighty ordonnance,
And all the spears of Venice at his back,
To beat and batter at our city gates –
Nay, is more dangerous to our commonwealth
Than gleaming spears and thundering ordonnance,
For walls and gates, bastions and forts, and things
Whose common elements are wood and stone
May be raised up, but who can raise again
The ruined body of my murdered lord,
And bid it live and laugh?
MAFFIO: Now by Saint Paul
I do not think that they will let him speak.
JEPPO VITELLOZZO: There is much in this, listen.
DUCHESS: Wherefore now,
Throw ashes on the head of Padua,
With sable banners hang each silent street,
Let every man be clad in solemn black,
But ere we turn to these sad rites of mourning
Let us bethink us of the desperate hand
Which wrought and brought this ruin on our state,
And straightway pack him to that narrow house,
Where no voice is, but with a little dust
Death fills up the lying mouths of men.
GUIDO: Unhand me, knaves! I tell thee, my Lord Justice,
Thou mightest as well bid the untrammeled ocean,
The winter whirlwind, or the Alpine storm,
Nor roar their will, as bid me hold my peace!
Ay! Though ye put your knives into my throat,
Each grim and gaping wound shall find a tongue,
And cry against you.
LORD JUSTICE: Sir, this violence
Avails you nothing; for save the tribunal
Give thee a lawful right to open speech,
Naught that thou sayest can be credited.
The DUCHESS smiles and GUIDO falls back with a gesture of despair.
Madam, myself, and these wise Justices,
Will with your Grace’s sanction now retire
Into another chamber, to decide
And search the statutes and the precedents.
DUCHESS: Go, my Lord Justice, search the statutes well,
Nor let this brawling traitor have his way.
MORANZONE: Go, my Lord Justice, search thy conscience well,
Nor let a man be sent to death unheard.
Exit the LORD JUSTICE and the Judges.
DUCHESS: Silence, thou evil genius of my life!
Thou com’st between us two a second time;
This time, my lord, I think the turn is mine.
GUIDO: I shall not die till I have uttered voice.
DUCHESS: Thou shalt die silent, and thy secret with thee.
GUIDO: Art thou that Beatrice, Duchess of Padua?
DUCHESS: I am what thou hast made me; look at me well,
I am thy handiwork.
MAFFIO: See, is she not
Like that white tigress which we saw at Venice,
Sent by some Indian soldan to the Doge.
JEPPO: Hush! She may hear thy chatter.
HEADSMAN: My young fellow,
I do not know why thou shouldst care to speak,
Seeing my axe is close upon thy neck,
And words of thine will never blunt its edge.
But if thou art so bent upon it, why
Thou mightest plead unto the Churchman yonder:
The common people call him kindly here,
Indeed I know he has a kindly soul.
GUIDO: This man, whose trade is death, hath courtesies
More than the others.
HEADSMAN: Why, God love you, sir,
I’ll do you your last service on this earth.
GUIDO: My good Lord Cardinal, in a Christian land,
With Lord Christ’s face of mercy looking down
From the high seat of Judgment, shall a man
Die unabsolved, unshrived? And if not so
May I not tell this dreadful tale of sin,
If any sin there be upon my soul.
DUCHESS: Thou dost but waste thy time.
CARDINAL: Alack, my son,
I have no power with the secular arm.
My task begins when justice has been done,
To urge the wavering sinner to repent
And to confess to Holy Church’s ear
Th
e dreadful secrets of a sinful mind.
DUCHESS: Thou mayest speak to the confessional
Until thy lips grow weary of their tale,
But here thou shalt not speak.
GUIDO: My reverend father,
You bring me but cold comfort.
CARDINAL: Nay, my son,
For the great power of our mother Church,
Ends not with this poor bubble of a world,
Of which we are but dust, as Jerome saith,
For if the sinner doth repentant die,
Our prayers and holy masses much avail
To bring the guilty soul from purgatory.
DUCHESS: And when in purgatory thou seest my Lord
With that red star of blood upon his heart,
Tell him I sent thee hither.
GUIDO: O dear God!
MORANZONE: This is the woman, is it, whom you loved?
CARDINAL: Your Grace is very cruel to this man.
DUCHESS: No more than he was cruel to her Grace.
CARDINAL: Ay! He did slay your husband.
DUCHESS: Ay! He did.
CARDINAL: Yet mercy is the sovereign right of princes.
DUCHESS: I got no mercy, and I give it not.
He hath changed my heart into a heart of stone,
He hath sown rank nettles in a goodly field,
He hath poisoned the wells of pity in my breast,
He hath withered up all kindness at the root;
My life is as some famine-murdered land,
Whence all good things have perished utterly:
I am what he hath made me.
The DUCHESS weeps.
JEPPO: Is it not strange
That she should so have loved the wicked Duke?
MAFFIO: It is most strange when women love their lords,
And when they love them not it is most strange.
JEPPO: What a philosopher thou art, Petrucci!
MAFFIO: Ay! I can bear the ills of other men,
Which is philosophy.
DUCHESS: They tarry long,
These-greybeards and their council; bid them come;
Bid them come quickly, else I think my heart
Will beat itself to bursting: not indeed, that I here care to live:
God knows my life
Is not so full of joy, yet, for all that,
I would not die companionless, or go
Lonely to Hell.
Look, my Lord Cardinal,
Canst thou not see across my forehead here,
In scarlet letters writ, the word Revenge?
Fetch me some water, I will wash it off:
’Twas branded there last night, but in the daytime
I need not wear it, need I, my Lord Cardinal?
