The Complete Plays

by Oscar Wilde

  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?

  Oh how it sears and burns into my brain:

  Give me a knife; not that one, but another,

  And I will cut it out.

  CARDINAL. It is most natural

  To be incensed against the murderous hand

  That treacherously stabbed your sleeping lord.

  DUCHESS. I would, old Cardinal, I could burn that hand;

  But it will burn hereafter.

  CARDINAL. Nay, the Church

  Ordains us to forgive our enemies.

  DUCHESS. Forgiveness? What is that? I never got it.

  They come at last: well, my Lord Justice, well.

  Enter the LORD JUSTICE.

  LORD JUSTICE. Most gracious Lady, and our sovereign

  Leige,

  We have long pondered on the point at issue,

  And much considered of your Grace’s wisdom,

  And never wisdom spake from fairer lips –

  DUCHESS. Proceed, sir, without compliment.

  LORD JUSTICE. We find,

  As your own Grace did rightly signify,

  That any citizen, who by force or craft

  Conspires against the person of the Liege,

  Is ipso facto outlaw, void of rights

  Such as pertain to other citizens,

  Is traitor, and a public enemy,

  Who may by any casual sword be slain

  Without the slayer’s danger, nay if brought

  Into the presence of the tribunal,

  Must with dumb lips and silence reverent

  Listen unto his well-deserved doom,

  Nor has the privilege of open speech.

  DUCHESS. I thank thee, my Lord Justice, heartily;

  I like your law: and now I pray dispatch

  This public outlaw to his righteous doom;

  For I am weary, and the headsman weary,

  What is there more?

  LORD JUSTICE. Ay, there is more, your Grace.

  This man being alien born, not Paduan,

  Nor by allegiance bound unto the Duke,

  Save such as common nature doth lay down,

  Hath, though accused of treasons manifold,

  Whose slightest penalty is certain death,

  Yet still the right of public utterance

  Before the people and the open Court,

  Nay, shall be much entreated by the Court,

  To make some formal pleading for his life,

  Lest his own city, righteously incensed,

  Should with an unjust trial tax our state,

  And wars spring up against the commonwealth:

  So merciful are the laws of Padua

  Unto the stranger living in her gates.

  DUCHESS. Being of my Lord’s household, is he stranger here?

  LORD JUSTICE. Ay, until seven years of service spent

  He cannot be a Paduan citizen.

  GUIDO. I thank thee, my Lord Justice, heartily;

  I like your law.

  SECOND CITIZEN. I like no law at all:

  Were there no law there’d be no law-breakers;

  So all men would be virtuous.

  FIRST CITIZEN. So they would;

  ’Tis a wise saying that, and brings you far.

  TIPSTAFF. Ay! to the gallows, knave.

  DUCHESS. Is this the law?

  LORD JUSTICE. It is the law most certainly, my liege.

  DUCHESS. Show me the book: ’tis written in blood-red.

  JEPPO. Look at the Duchess.

  DUCHESS. Thou accursed law,

  I would that I could tear thee from the state

  As easy as I tear thee from this book.

  Tears out the page.

  Come here, Count Bardi: are you honourable?

  Get a horse ready for me at my house,

  For I must ride to Venice instantly.

  BARDI. To Venice, Madam?

  DUCHESS. Not a word of this.

  Go, go at once.

  Exit COUNT BARDI.

  A moment, my Lord Justice.

  If, as thou sayest it, this is the law –

  Nay, nay, I doubt not that thou sayest right,

  Though right be wrong in such a case as this –

  May I not by the virtue of mine office

  Adjourn this Court until another day?

  LORD JUSTICE. Madam, you cannot stay a trial for blood.

  DUCHESS. I will not tarry then to hear this man

  Rail with rude tongue against our sacred person.

  I have some business also in my house

  Which I must do: Come, gentlemen.

  LORD JUSTICE. My liege,

  You cannot leave this court until the prisoner

  Be purged or guilty of this dread offence.

  DUCHESS. Cannot, Lord Justice? By what right do you

  Set barriers in my path where I should go?

  Am I not Duchess here in Padua,

  And the state’s regent?

  LORD JUSTICE. For that reason, Madam,

  Being the fountain-head of life and death

  Whence, like a mighty river, justice flows,

  Without thy presence justice is dried up

  And fails of purpose: thou must tarry here.

  DUCHESS. What, wilt thou keep me here against my will?

  LORD JUSTICE. We pray thy will be not against the law.

  DUCHESS. What if I force my way out of the Court?

  LORD JUSTICE. Thou canst not force the Court to give

  thee way.

  DUCHESS. I will not tarry. (Rises from her seat.)

  LORD JUSTICE. Is the usher here?

  Let him stand forth. (USHER comes forward.)

  Thou knowest thy business, sir.

  The USHER closes the doors of the Court, which are L., and when the DUCHESS and her retinue approach, kneels down.

  USHER. In all humility I beseech your Grace

  Turn not my duty to discourtesy,

  Nor make my unwelcome office an offence.

  The self-same laws which make your Grace the Regent

  Bid me watch here: my Liege, to break those laws

  Is but to break thine office and not mine.

  DUCHESS. Is there no gentleman amongst you all

  To prick this prating fellow from our way?

  MAFFIO (drawing his sword). Ay! that will I.

  LORD JUSTICE. Count Maffio, have a care,

  And you, sir.

  To JEPPO.

  The first man who draws his sword

  Upon the meanest officer of this Court,

  Dies before nightfall.

  DUCHESS. Sirs, put up your swords:

  It is most meet that I should hear this man. (Goes back to throme).

  MORANZONE. Now has thou got thy enemy in thy hand.

  LORD JUSTICE (taking the time-glass up). Guido Ferranti,

  while the crumbling sand

  Falls through this time-glass, thou hast leave to speak.

  This and no more.

  GUIDO. It is enough, my lord.

  LORD JUSTICE. Thou standest on the extreme verge of death;

  See that thou speakest nothing but the truth,

  Nothing else will serve thee.

  GUIDO. If I speak it not,

  LORD JUSTICE (turns the time-glass). Let there be silence while the prisoner speaks.

  TIPSTAFF. Silence in the Court there.

  GUIDO. My Lords Justices.

  And reverent judges of
this worthy court,

  I hardly know where to begin my tale,

  So strangely dreadful is this history.

  First, let me tell you of what birth I am.

  I am the son of that good Duke Lorenzo

  Who was with damned treachery done to death

  By a most wicked villain, lately Duke

  Of this good town of Padua.

  LORD JUSTICE. Have a care,

  It will avail thee nought to mock this prince

  Who now lies in his coffin.

  MAFFIO. By Saint James,

  This is the Duke of Parma’s rightful heir.

  JEPPO. I always thought him noble.

  GUIDO. I confess

  That with the purport of a just revenge,

  A most just vengeance on a man of blood,

  I entered the Duke’s household, served his will,

  Sat at his board, drank of his wine, and was

  His intimate: so much I will confess,

  And this too, that I waited till he grew

  To give the fondest secrets of his life

  Into my keeping, till he fawned on me,

  And trusted me in every private matter

  Even as my noble father trusted him;

  That for this thing I waited.

  To the HEADSMAN.

  Thou man of blood!

  Turn not thine axe on me before the time:

  Who knows if it be time for me to die?

  Is there no other neck in court but mine?

  LORD JUSTICE. The sand within the time-glass flows apace.

  Come quickly to the murder of the Duke.

  GUIDO. I will be brief: Last night at twelve o’clock,

  By a strong rope I scaled the palace wall,

  With purport to revenge my father’s murder –

  Ay! with that purport I confess, my lord.

  This much I will acknowledge, and this also,

  That as with stealthy feet I climbed the stair

  Which led unto the chamber of the Duke,

  And reached my hand out for the scarlet cloth

  Which shook and shivered in the gusty door,

  Lo! the white moon that sailed in the great heaven

  Flooded with silver light the darkened room,

  Night lit her candles for me and I saw

  The man I hated, cursing in his sleep,

  And thinking of a most dear father murdered,

  Sold to the scaffold, bartered to the block.

  I smote the treacherous villain to the heart

  With this same dagger, which by chance I found

  Within the chamber.

  DUCHESS (rising from her seat). Oh!

  GUIDO (hurriedly). I killed the Duke.

  Now, my Lord Justice, if I may crave a boon,

  Suffer me not to see another sun

  Light up the misery of this loathsome world.

  LORD JUSTICE. Thy boon is granted, thou shalt die to-night.

  Lead him away: Come, Madam.

  GUIDO is led off; as he goes the DUCHESS stretches out her arms and rushes down the stage.

  DUCHESS. Guido! Guido! (Faints.)

  Tableau

  Curtain

  Fifth Act

  SCENE

  A dungeon in the public prison of Padua: Guido lies asleep on a pallet (L.C.); a table with a goblet on it is set (L.C.); five soldiers are drinking and playing dice in the corner on a stone table; one of them has a lantern hung to his halbert; a torch is set on the wall over Guido’s head. Two grated windows behind, one on each side of the door which is (C.), look out into a passage; the stage is rather dark.

  FIRST SOLDIER (throws dice). Sixes again! good Pietro.

  SECOND SOLDIER. I’ faith, lieutenant, I will play with thee no more. I will lose everything.

  THIRD SOLDIER. Except thy wits; thou art safe there!

  SECOND SOLDIER. Ay, ay, he cannot take them from me.

  THIRD SOLDIER. No; for thou hast no wits to give him.

  THE SOLDIERS (loudly). Ha! ha! ha!

  FIRST SOLDIER. Silence! You will wake the prisoner; he is asleep.

  SECOND SOLDIER. What matter? He will get sleep enough when he is buried. I warrant he’d be glad if we could wake him when he’s in the grave.

  THIRD SOLDIER. Nay! for when he wakes there it will be judgement day.

  SECOND SOLDIER. Ay, and he has done a grevious thing; for, look you, to murder one of us who are but flesh and blood is a sin and to kill a Duke goes being near against the law.

  FIRST SOLDIER. Well, well, he was a wicked Duke.

  SECOND SOLDIER. And so he should not have touched him; if one meddles with wicked people, one is like to be tainted with their wickedness.

  THIRD SOLDIER. Ay, that is true. How old is the prisoner?

  SECOND SOLDIER. Old enough to do wrong, and not old enough to be wise.

  FIRST SOLDIER. Why, then, he might be any age.

  SECOND SOLDIER. They say the Duchess wanted to pardon him.

  FIRST SOLDIER. Is that so?

  SECOND SOLDIER. Ay, and did much entreat the Lord Justice, but he would not.

  FIRST SOLDIER. I had thought, Pietro, that the Duchess was omnipotent.

  SECOND SOLDIER. True, she is well-favoured; I know none so comely.

  THE SOLDIERS. Ha! ha! ha!

  SECOND SOLDIER. I meant I had thought our Duchess could do anything.

  SECOND SOLDIER. Nay, for he is now given over to the Justices, and they will see that justice be done; they and stout Hugh the headsman; but when his head is off, why then the Duchess can pardon him if she like; there is no law against that.

  FIRST SOLDIER. I do not think that stout Hugh, as you call him, will do the business for him after all. This Guido is of gentle birth, and so by the law can drink poison first, if it so be his pleasure.

  THIRD SOLDIER. Faith, to drink poison is a poor pleasure.

  SECOND SOLDIER. What kind of poison is it?

  FIRST SOLDIER. Why, of the kind that kills.

  SECOND SOLDIER. What sort of a thing is poison?

  FIRST SOLDIER. It is a drink, like water, only not so healthy: if you would taste it there is some in the cup there.

  SECOND SOLDIER. By Saint James, if it be not healthy, I will have none of it!

  THIRD SOLDIER. And if he does not drink it?

  FIRST SOLDIER. Why, then, they will kill him.

  THIRD SOLDIER. And if he does drink it?

  FIRST SOLDIER. Why, then, he will die.

  SECOND SOLDIER. He has a grave choice to make. I trust he will choose wisely.

  Knocking comes at the door.

  FIRST SOLDIER. See who that is.

  THIRD SOLDIER goes over and looks through the wicket.

  THIRD SOLDIER. It is a woman, sir.

  FIRST SOLDIER. Is she pretty?

  THIRD SOLDIER. I can’t tell. She is masked, lieutenant.

  FIRST SOLDIER. It is only very ugly or very beautiful women who ever hide their faces. Let her in.

  SOLDIER opens the door, and the DUCHESS masked and cloaked enters.

  DUCHESS (to THIRD SOLDIER). Are you the officer on guard?

  FIRST SOLDIER (coming forward). I am, madam.

  DUCHESS. I must see the prisoner alone.

  FIRST SOLDIER. I am afraid that is impossible. (The DUCHESS hands him a ring, he looks at it and returns it to her with a bow and makes a sign to the SOLDIERS). Stand without there.

  Exeunt the SOLDIERS.

  DUCHESS. Officer, your men are somewhat rough.

  FIRST SOLDIER. They mean no harm.

  DUCHESS. I will be going back in a few minutes. As I pass through the corridor do not let them try and lift my mask.

  FIRST SOLDIER. You need not be afraid, madam.

  DUCHESS. I have a particular reason for wishing my face not to be seen.

  FIRST SOLDIER. Madam, with this ring you can go in and out as you please; it is the Duchess’s own ring.

  DUCHESS. Leave us. (The SOLDIER turns to go out.) A moment, sir. For w
hat hour is …

  FIRST SOLDIER. At twelve o’clock, madam, we have orders to lead him out; but I dare say he won’t wait for us; he’s more like to take a drink out of that poison yonder. Men are afraid of the headsman.

  DUCHESS. Is that poison?

  FIRST SOLDIER. Ay, madam, and very sure poison too. DUCHESS. You may go, sir.

  FIRST SOLDIER. By Saint James, a pretty hand! I wonder who she is. Some women who loved him, perhaps.

  Exit.

  DUCHESS (taking her mask off). At last!

  He can escape now in the cloak and vizard,

  We are of a height almost: they will not know him;

  As for myself what matter?

  So that he does not curse me as he goes,

  I care but little: I wonder will he curse me, He has the right. It is eleven now.

  They will not come till twelve. What will they say

  When they find the bird has flown?

  Goes over to the table.

  So this is poison.

  Is it not strange that in this liquor here

  There lies the key to all philosophies?

  Takes the cup up.

  It smells of poppies. I remember well

  That, when I was a child in Sicily,

  I took the scarlet poppies from the corn,

  And made a little wreath, and my grave uncle,

  Don John of Naples, laughed: I did not know

  That they had power to stay the springs of life,

  To make the pulse cease beating, and to chill

  The blood in its own vessels, till men come

  And with a hook hale the poor body out,

  And throw it in a ditch: the body, ay, –

  What of the soul? that goes to heaven or hell.

  Where will mine go?

  Takes the torch from the wall, and goes over to the bed.

  How peacefully here he sleeps,

  Like a young schoolboy tired out with play:

  I would that I could sleep so peacefully,

  But I have dreams.

  Bending over him.

  Poor boy: what if I kissed him?

  No, no, my lips would burn him like a fire.

  He has had enough of Love. Still that white neck

  Will ‘scape the headsman: I have seen to that:

  He will get hence from Padua to-night,

  And that is well. You are very wise. Lord Justices,

  And yet you are not half so wise as I am,

  And that is well.

  O God! how I have loved you,

  And what a bloody flower did Love bear!

  Comes back to the table.

  What if I drank these juices, and so ceased?

  Were it not better than to wait till Death

  Come to my bed with all his serving men,

  Remorse, disease, old age, and misery?