The Duchess of Padua

SCENE

_The Court of Justice_: _the walls are hung with stamped grey velvet_: _above the hangings the wall is red_, _and gilt symbolical figures bear up the roof_, _which is made of red beams with grey soffits and moulding_: _a canopy of white satin flowered with gold is set for the Duchess_: _below it a long bench with red cloth for the Judges_: _below that a table for the clerks of the court. Two soldiers stand on each side of the canopy_, _and two soldiers guard the door_; _the citizens have some of them collected in the Court_; _others are coming in greeting one another_; _two tipstaffs in violet keep order with long white wands_.

First Citizen. Good morrow, neighbour Anthony.

Second Citizen. Good morrow, neighbour Dominick.

First Citizen. This is a strange day for Padua, is it not?—the Duke being dead.

Second Citizen. I tell you, neighbour Dominick, I have not known such a day since the last Duke died.

First Citizen. They will try him first, and sentence him afterwards, will they not, neighbour Anthony?

Second Citizen. Nay, for he might ’scape his punishment then; but they will condemn him first so that he gets his deserts, and give him trial afterwards so that no injustice is done.

First Citizen. Well, well, it will go hard with him I doubt not.

Second Citizen. Surely it is a grievous thing to shed a Duke’s blood.

Third Citizen. They say a Duke has blue blood.

Second Citizen. I think our Duke’s blood was black like his soul.

First Citizen. Have a watch, neighbour Anthony, the officer is looking at thee.

Second Citizen. I care not if he does but look at me; he cannot whip me with the lashes of his eye.

Third Citizen. What think you of this young man who stuck the knife into the Duke?

Second Citizen. Why, that he is a well-behaved, and a well-meaning, and a well-favoured lad, and yet wicked in that he killed the Duke.

Third Citizen. ’Twas the first time he did it: may be the law will not be hard on him, as he did not do it before.

Second Citizen. True.

Tipstaff. Silence, knave.

Second Citizen. Am I thy looking-glass, Master Tipstaff, that thou callest me knave?

First Citizen. Here be one of the household coming. Well, Dame Lucy, thou art of the Court, how does thy poor mistress the Duchess, with her sweet face?

Mistress Lucy. O well-a-day! O miserable day! O day! O misery! Why it is just nineteen years last June, at Michaelmas, since I was married to my husband, and it is August now, and here is the Duke murdered; there is a coincidence for you!

Second Citizen. Why, if it is a coincidence, they may not kill the young man: there is no law against coincidences.

First Citizen. But how does the Duchess?

Mistress Lucy. Well well, I knew some harm would happen to the house: six weeks ago the cakes were all burned on one side, and last Saint Martin even as ever was, there flew into the candle a big moth that had wings, and a’most scared me.

First Citizen. But come to the Duchess, good gossip: what of her?

Mistress Lucy. Marry, it is time you should ask after her, poor lady; she is distraught almost. Why, she has not slept, but paced the chamber all night long. I prayed her to have a posset, or some aqua-vitæ, and to get to bed and sleep a little for her health’s sake, but she answered me she was afraid she might dream. That was a strange answer, was it not?

Second Citizen. These great folk have not much sense, so Providence makes it up to them in fine clothes.

Mistress Lucy. Well, well, God keep murder from us, I say, as long as we are alive.

[_Enter_ LORD MORANZONE _hurriedly_.]

Moranzone. Is the Duke dead?

Second Citizen. He has a knife in his heart, which they say is not healthy for any man.

Moranzone. Who is accused of having killed him?

Second Citizen. Why, the prisoner, sir.

Moranzone. But who is the prisoner?

Second Citizen. Why, he that is accused of the Duke’s murder.

Moranzone. I mean, what is his name?

Second Citizen. Faith, the same which his godfathers gave him: what else should it be?

Tipstaff. Guido Ferranti is his name, my lord.

Moranzone. I almost knew thine answer ere you gave it.

[_Aside_.]

Yet it is strange he should have killed the Duke, Seeing he left me in such different mood. It is most likely when he saw the man, This devil who had sold his father’s life, That passion from their seat within his heart Thrust all his boyish theories of love, And in their place set vengeance; yet I marvel That he escaped not.

[_Turning again to the crowd_.]

How was he taken? Tell me.

Third Citizen. Marry, sir, he was taken by the heels.

Moranzone. But who seized him?

Third Citizen. Why, those that did lay hold of him.

Moranzone. How was the alarm given?

Third Citizen. That I cannot tell you, sir.

Mistress Lucy. It was the Duchess herself who pointed him out.

MORANZONE [_aside_]

The Duchess! There is something strange in this.

Mistress Lucy. Ay! And the dagger was in his hand—the Duchess’s own dagger.

Moranzone. What did you say?

Mistress Lucy. Why, marry, that it was with the Duchess’s dagger that the Duke was killed.

MORANZONE [_aside_]

There is some mystery about this: I cannot understand it.

Second Citizen. They be very long a-coming,

First Citizen. I warrant they will come soon enough for the prisoner.

Tipstaff. Silence in the Court!

First Citizen. Thou dost break silence in bidding us keep it, Master Tipstaff.

[_Enter the_ LORD JUSTICE _and the other Judges_.]

Second Citizen. Who is he in scarlet? Is he the headsman?

Third Citizen. Nay, he is the Lord Justice.

[_Enter_ GUIDO _guarded_.]

Second Citizen. There be the prisoner surely.

Third Citizen. He looks honest.

First Citizen. That be his villany: knaves nowadays do look so honest that honest folk are forced to look like knaves so as to be different.

[_Enter the Headman_, _who takes his stand behind_ GUIDO.]

Second Citizen. Yon be the headsman then! O Lord! Is the axe sharp, think you?

First Citizen. Ay! sharper than thy wits are; but the edge is not towards him, mark you.

SECOND CITIZEN [_scratching his neck_]

I’ faith, I like it not so near.

First Citizen. Tut, thou need’st not be afraid; they never cut the heads of common folk: they do but hang us.

[_Trumpets outside_.]

Third Citizen. What are the trumpets for? Is the trial over?

First Citizen. Nay, ’tis for the Duchess.

[_Enter the_ DUCHESS _in black velvet_; _her train of flowered black velvet is carried by two pages in violet_; _with her is the_ CARDINAL _in scarlet_, _and the gentlemen of the Court in black_; _she takes her seat on the throne above the Judges_, _who rise and take their caps off as she enters_; _the_ CARDINAL _sits next to her a little lower_; _the Courtiers group themselves about the throne_.]

Second Citizen. O poor lady, how pale she is! Will she sit there?

First Citizen. Ay! she is in the Duke’s place now.

Second Citizen. That is a good thing for Padua; the Duchess is a very kind and merciful Duchess; why, she cured my child of the ague once.

Third Citizen. Ay, and has given us bread: do not forget the bread.

A SOLDIER

Stand back, good people.

Second Citizen. If we be good, why should we stand back?

Tipstaff. Silence in the Court!

Lord Justice. May it please your Grace, Is it your pleasure we proceed to trial Of the Duke’s murder? [DUCHESS _bows_.] Set the prisoner forth. What is thy name?

Guido. It matters not, my lord.

Lord Justice. Guido Ferranti is thy name in Padua.

Guido. A man may die as well under that name as any other.

Lord Justice. Thou art not ignorant What dreadful charge men lay against thee here, Namely, the treacherous murder of thy Lord, Simone Gesso, Duke of Padua; What dost thou say in answer?

Guido. I say nothing.

LORD JUSTICE [_rising_]

Guido Ferranti—

MORANZONE [_stepping from the crowd_]

Tarry, my Lord Justice.

Lord Justice. Who art thou that bid’st justice tarry, sir?

Moranzone. So be it justice it can go its way; But if it be not justice—

Lord Justice. Who is this?

Count Bardi. A very noble gentleman, and well known To the late Duke.

Lord Justice. Sir, thou art come in time To see the murder of the Duke avenged. There stands the man who did this heinous thing.

Moranzone. My lord, I ask again what proof have ye?

LORD JUSTICE [_holding up the dagger_]

This dagger, Which from his blood-stained hands, itself all blood, Last night the soldiers seized: what further proof Need we indeed?

MORANZONE [_takes the danger and approaches the_ DUCHESS]

Saw I not such a dagger Hang from your Grace’s girdle yesterday?

[_The_ DUCHESS _shudders and makes no answer_.]

Ah! my Lord Justice, may I speak a moment With this young man, who in such peril stands?

Lord Justice. Ay, willingly, my lord, and may you turn him To make a full avowal of his guilt.

[LORD MORANZONE _goes over to_ GUIDO, _who stands R. and clutches him by the hand_.]

MORANZONE [_in a low voice_]

She did it! Nay, I saw it in her eyes. Boy, dost thou think I’ll let thy father’s son Be by this woman butchered to his death? Her husband sold your father, and the wife Would sell the son in turn.

Guido. Lord Moranzone, I alone did this thing: be satisfied, My father is avenged.

Lord Justice. Doth he confess?

Guido. My lord, I do confess That foul unnatural murder has been done.

First Citizen. Why, look at that: he has a pitiful heart, and does not like murder; they will let him go for that.

Lord Justice. Say you no more?

Guido. My lord, I say this also, That to spill human blood is deadly sin.

Second Citizen. Marry, he should tell that to the headsman: ’tis a good sentiment.

Guido. Lastly, my lord, I do entreat the Court To give me leave to utter openly The dreadful secret of this mystery, And to point out the very guilty one Who with this dagger last night slew the Duke.

Lord Justice. Thou hast leave to speak.

DUCHESS [_rising_]

I say he shall not speak: What need have we of further evidence? Was he not taken in the house at night In Guilt’s own bloody livery?

LORD JUSTICE [_showing her the statute_]

Your Grace Can read the law.

DUCHESS [_waiving book aside_]

Bethink you, my Lord Justice, Is it not very like that such a one May, in the presence of the people here, Utter some slanderous word against my Lord, Against the city, or the city’s honour, Perchance against myself.

Lord Justice. My liege, the law.

Duchess. He shall not speak, but, with gags in his mouth, Shall climb the ladder to the bloody block.

Lord Justice. The law, my liege.

Duchess. We are not bound by law, But with it we bind others.

Moranzone. My Lord Justice, Thou wilt not suffer this injustice here.

Lord Justice. The Court needs not thy voice, Lord Moranzone. Madam, it were a precedent most evil To wrest the law from its appointed course, For, though the cause be just, yet anarchy Might on this licence touch these golden scales And unjust causes unjust victories gain.

Count Bardi. I do not think your Grace can stay the law.

Duchess. Ay, it is well to preach and prate of law: Methinks, my haughty lords of Padua, If ye are hurt in pocket or estate, So much as makes your monstrous revenues Less by the value of one ferry toll, Ye do not wait the tedious law’s delay With such sweet patience as ye counsel me.

Count Bardi. Madam, I think you wrong our nobles here.

Duchess. I think I wrong them not. Which of you all Finding a thief within his house at night, With some poor chattel thrust into his rags, Will stop and parley with him? do ye not Give him unto the officer and his hook To be dragged gaolwards straightway? And so now, Had ye been men, finding this fellow here, With my Lord’s life still hot upon his hands, Ye would have haled him out into the court, And struck his head off with an axe.

Guido. O God!

Duchess. Speak, my Lord Justice.

Lord Justice. Your Grace, it cannot be: The laws of Padua are most certain here: And by those laws the common murderer even May with his own lips plead, and make defence.

Duchess. This is no common murderer, Lord Justice, But a great outlaw, and a most vile traitor, Taken in open arms against the state. For he who slays the man who rules a state Slays the state also, widows every wife, And makes each child an orphan, and no less Is to be held a public enemy, Than if he came with mighty ordonnance, And all the spears of Venice at his back, To beat and batter at our city gates— Nay, is more dangerous to our commonwealth, For walls and gates, bastions and forts, and things Whose common elements are wood and stone May be raised up, but who can raise again The ruined body of my murdered lord, And bid it live and laugh?

Maffio. Now by Saint Paul I do not think that they will let him speak.

JEPPO VITELLOZZO

There is much in this, listen.

Duchess. Wherefore now, Throw ashes on the head of Padua, With sable banners hang each silent street, Let every man be clad in solemn black; But ere we turn to these sad rites of mourning Let us bethink us of the desperate hand Which wrought and brought this ruin on our state, And straightway pack him to that narrow house, Where no voice is, but with a little dust Death fills right up the lying mouths of men.

Guido. Unhand me, knaves! I tell thee, my Lord Justice, Thou mightst as well bid the untrammelled ocean, The winter whirlwind, or the Alpine storm, Not roar their will, as bid me hold my peace! Ay! though ye put your knives into my throat, Each grim and gaping wound shall find a tongue, And cry against you.

Lord Justice. Sir, this violence Avails you nothing; for save the tribunal Give thee a lawful right to open speech, Naught that thou sayest can be credited.

[_The_ DUCHESS _smiles and_ GUIDO _falls back with a gesture of despair_.]

Madam, myself, and these wise Justices, Will with your Grace’s sanction now retire Into another chamber, to decide Upon this difficult matter of the law, And search the statutes and the precedents.

Duchess. Go, my Lord Justice, search the statutes well, Nor let this brawling traitor have his way.

Moranzone. Go, my Lord Justice, search thy conscience well, Nor let a man be sent to death unheard.

[_Exit the_ LORD JUSTICE _and the Judges_.]

Duchess. Silence, thou evil genius of my life! Thou com’st between us two a second time; This time, my lord, I think the turn is mine.

Guido. I shall not die till I have uttered voice.

Duchess. Thou shalt die silent, and thy secret with thee.

Guido. Art thou that Beatrice, Duchess of Padua?

Duchess. I am what thou hast made me; look at me well, I am thy handiwork.

Maffio. See, is she not Like that white tigress which we saw at Venice, Sent by some Indian soldan to the Doge?

Jeppo. Hush! she may hear thy chatter.

HEADSMAN

My young fellow, I do not know why thou shouldst care to speak, Seeing my axe is close upon thy neck, And words of thine will never blunt its edge. But if thou art so bent upon it, why Thou mightest plead unto the Churchman yonder: The common people call him kindly here, Indeed I know he has a kindly soul.

Guido. This man, whose trade is death, hath courtesies More than the others.

HEADSMAN

Why, God love you, sir, I’ll do you your last service on this earth.

Guido. My good Lord Cardinal, in a Christian land, With Lord Christ’s face of mercy looking down From the high seat of Judgment, shall a man Die unabsolved, unshrived? And if not so, May I not tell this dreadful tale of sin, If any sin there be upon my soul?

Duchess. Thou dost but waste thy time.

Cardinal. Alack, my son, I have no power with the secular arm. My task begins when justice has been done, To urge the wavering sinner to repent And to confess to Holy Church’s ear The dreadful secrets of a sinful mind.

Duchess. Thou mayest speak to the confessional Until thy lips grow weary of their tale, But here thou shalt not speak.

Guido. My reverend father, You bring me but cold comfort.

Cardinal. Nay, my son, For the great power of our mother Church, Ends not with this poor bubble of a world, Of which we are but dust, as Jerome saith, For if the sinner doth repentant die, Our prayers and holy masses much avail To bring the guilty soul from purgatory.

Duchess. And when in purgatory thou seest my Lord With that red star of blood upon his heart, Tell him I sent thee hither.

Guido. O dear God!

Moranzone. This is the woman, is it, whom you loved?

Cardinal. Your Grace is very cruel to this man.

Duchess. No more than he was cruel to her Grace.

Cardinal. Yet mercy is the sovereign right of princes.

Duchess. I got no mercy, and I give it not. He hath changed my heart into a heart of stone, He hath sown rank nettles in a goodly field, He hath poisoned the wells of pity in my breast, He hath withered up all kindness at the root; My life is as some famine murdered land, Whence all good things have perished utterly: I am what he hath made me.

[_The_ DUCHESS _weeps_.]

Jeppo. Is it not strange That she should so have loved the wicked Duke?

Maffio. It is most strange when women love their lords, And when they love them not it is most strange.

Jeppo. What a philosopher thou art, Petrucci!

Maffio. Ay! I can bear the ills of other men, Which is philosophy.

Duchess. They tarry long, These greybeards and their council; bid them come; Bid them come quickly, else I think my heart Will beat itself to bursting: not indeed, That I here care to live; God knows my life Is not so full of joy, yet, for all that, I would not die companionless, or go Lonely to Hell. Look, my Lord Cardinal, Canst thou not see across my forehead here, In scarlet letters writ, the word Revenge? Fetch me some water, I will wash it off: ’Twas branded there last night, but in the day-time I need not wear it, need I, my Lord Cardinal? Oh, how it sears and burns into my brain: Give me a knife; not that one, but another, And I will cut it out.

Cardinal. It is most natural To be incensed against the murderous hand That treacherously stabbed your sleeping lord.

Duchess. I would, old Cardinal, I could burn that hand; But it will burn hereafter.

Cardinal. Nay, the Church Ordains us to forgive our enemies.

Duchess. Forgiveness? what is that? I never got it. They come at last: well, my Lord Justice, well.

[_Enter the_ LORD JUSTICE.]

Lord Justice. Most gracious Lady, and our sovereign Liege, We have long pondered on the point at issue, And much considered of your Grace’s wisdom, And never wisdom spake from fairer lips—

Duchess. Proceed, sir, without compliment.

Lord Justice. We find, As your own Grace did rightly signify, That any citizen, who by force or craft Conspires against the person of the Liege, Is _ipso facto_ outlaw, void of rights Such as pertain to other citizens, Is traitor, and a public enemy, Who may by any casual sword be slain Without the slayer’s danger; nay, if brought Into the presence of the tribunal, Must with dumb lips and silence reverent Listen unto his well-deserved doom, Nor has the privilege of open speech.

Duchess. I thank thee, my Lord Justice, heartily; I like your law: and now I pray dispatch This public outlaw to his righteous doom; What is there more?

Lord Justice. Ay, there is more, your Grace. This man being alien born, not Paduan, Nor by allegiance bound unto the Duke, Save such as common nature doth lay down, Hath, though accused of treasons manifold, Whose slightest penalty is certain death, Yet still the right of public utterance Before the people and the open court; Nay, shall be much entreated by the Court, To make some formal pleading for his life, Lest his own city, righteously incensed, Should with an unjust trial tax our state, And wars spring up against the commonwealth: So merciful are the laws of Padua Unto the stranger living in her gates.

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

Lord Justice. Ay, until seven years of service spent He cannot be a Paduan citizen.

Guido. I thank thee, my Lord Justice, heartily; I like your law.

Second Citizen. I like no law at all: Were there no law there’d be no law-breakers, So all men would be virtuous.

First Citizen. So they would; ’Tis a wise saying that, and brings you far.

Tipstaff. Ay! to the gallows, knave.

Duchess. Is this the law?

Lord Justice. It is the law most certainly, my liege.

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

Jeppo. Look at the Duchess.

Duchess. Thou accursed law, I would that I could tear thee from the state As easy as I tear thee from this book.

[_Tears out the page_.]

Come here, Count Bardi: are you honourable? Get a horse ready for me at my house, For I must ride to Venice instantly.

BARDI

To Venice, Madam?

Duchess. Not a word of this, Go, go at once. [_Exit_ COUNT BARDI.] A moment, my Lord Justice. If, as thou sayest it, this is the law— Nay, nay, I doubt not that thou sayest right, Though right be wrong in such a case as this— May I not by the virtue of mine office Adjourn this court until another day?

Lord Justice. Madam, you cannot stay a trial for blood.

Duchess. I will not tarry then to hear this man Rail with rude tongue against our sacred person. Come, gentlemen.

Lord Justice. My liege, You cannot leave this court until the prisoner Be purged or guilty of this dread offence.

Duchess. Cannot, Lord Justice? By what right do you Set barriers in my path where I should go? Am I not Duchess here in Padua, And the state’s regent?

Lord Justice. For that reason, Madam, Being the fountain-head of life and death Whence, like a mighty river, justice flows, Without thy presence justice is dried up And fails of purpose: thou must tarry here.

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

Lord Justice. We pray thy will be not against the law.

Duchess. What if I force my way out of the court?

Lord Justice. Thou canst not force the Court to give thee way.

Duchess. I will not tarry. [_Rises from her seat_.]

Lord Justice. Is the usher here? Let him stand forth. [_Usher comes forward_.] Thou knowest thy business, sir.

[_The Usher closes the doors of the court_, _which are L._, _and when the_ DUCHESS _and her retinue approach_, _kneels down_.]

USHER

In all humility I beseech your Grace Turn not my duty to discourtesy, Nor make my unwelcome office an offence.

Duchess. Is there no gentleman amongst you all To prick this prating fellow from our way?

MAFFIO [_drawing his sword_]

Ay! that will I.

Lord Justice. Count Maffio, have a care, And you, sir. [_To_ JEPPO.] The first man who draws his sword Upon the meanest officer of this Court, Dies before nightfall.

Duchess. Sirs, put up your swords: It is most meet that I should hear this man.

[_Goes back to throne_.]

Moranzone. Now hast thou got thy enemy in thy hand.

LORD JUSTICE [_taking the time-glass up_]

Guido Ferranti, while the crumbling sand Falls through this time-glass, thou hast leave to speak. This and no more.

Guido. It is enough, my lord.

Lord Justice. Thou standest on the extreme verge of death; See that thou speakest nothing but the truth, Naught else will serve thee.

Guido. If I speak it not, Then give my body to the headsman there.

LORD JUSTICE [_turns the time-glass_]

Let there be silence while the prisoner speaks.

Tipstaff. Silence in the Court there.

Guido. My Lords Justices, And reverent judges of this worthy court, I hardly know where to begin my tale, So strangely dreadful is this history. First, let me tell you of what birth I am. I am the son of that good Duke Lorenzo Who was with damned treachery done to death By a most wicked villain, lately Duke Of this good town of Padua.

Lord Justice. Have a care, It will avail thee nought to mock this prince Who now lies in his coffin.

Maffio. By Saint James, This is the Duke of Parma’s rightful heir.

Jeppo. I always thought him noble.

Guido. I confess That with the purport of a just revenge, A most just vengeance on a man of blood, I entered the Duke’s household, served his will, Sat at his board, drank of his wine, and was His intimate: so much I will confess, And this too, that I waited till he grew To give the fondest secrets of his life Into my keeping, till he fawned on me, And trusted me in every private matter Even as my noble father trusted him; That for this thing I waited.

[_To the Headsman_.]

Thou man of blood! Turn not thine axe on me before the time: Who knows if it be time for me to die? Is there no other neck in court but mine?

Lord Justice. The sand within the time-glass flows apace. Come quickly to the murder of the Duke.

Guido. I will be brief: Last night at twelve o’ the clock, By a strong rope I scaled the palace wall, With purport to revenge my father’s murder— Ay! with that purport I confess, my lord. This much I will acknowledge, and this also, That as with stealthy feet I climbed the stair Which led unto the chamber of the Duke, And reached my hand out for the scarlet cloth Which shook and shivered in the gusty door, Lo! the white moon that sailed in the great heaven Flooded with silver light the darkened room, Night lit her candles for me, and I saw The man I hated, cursing in his sleep; And thinking of a most dear father murdered, Sold to the scaffold, bartered to the block, I smote the treacherous villain to the heart With this same dagger, which by chance I found Within the chamber.

DUCHESS [_rising from her seat_]

Oh!

GUIDO [_hurriedly_]

I killed the Duke. Now, my Lord Justice, if I may crave a boon, Suffer me not to see another sun Light up the misery of this loathsome world.

Lord Justice. Thy boon is granted, thou shalt die to-night. Lead him away. Come, Madam

[GUIDO _is led off_; _as he goes the_ DUCHESS _stretches out her arms and rushes down the stage_.]

Duchess. Guido! Guido!

[_Faints_.]

_Tableau_

END OF ACT IV.

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