Part 1

# The Duchess of Padua ### By Wilde, Oscar

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Transcribed from the 1916 Methuen and Co. edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

THE DUCHESS OF PADUA

A PLAY

BY OSCAR WILDE

* * * * *

METHUEN & CO. LTD. 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. LONDON

_Fifth Edition_

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

Simone Gesso, Duke of Padua

Beatrice, his Wife

Andreas Pollajuolo, Cardinal of Padua

Maffio Petrucci, Jeppo Vitellozzo, Taddeo Bardi } Gentlemen of the Duke’s Household

Guido Ferranti, a Young Man

Ascanio Cristofano, his Friend

Count Moranzone, an Old Man

Bernardo Cavalcanti, Lord Justice of Padua

Hugo, the Headsman

Lucy, a Tire woman

Servants, Citizens, Soldiers, Monks, Falconers with their hawks and dogs, etc.

* * * * *

PLACE: _Padua_

TIME: _The latter half of the Sixteenth Century_

THE SCENES OF THE PLAY

## ACT I. _The Market Place of Padua_ (25 _minutes_).

## ACT II. _Room in the Duke’s Palace_ (36 _minutes_).

## ACT III. _Corridor in the Duke’s Palace_ (29

_minutes_).

## ACT IV. _The Hall of Justice_ (31 _minutes_).

## ACT V. _The Dungeon_ (25 _minutes_).

_Style of Architecture_: Italian, Gothic and Romanesque.

## ACT I

SCENE

_The Market Place of Padua at noon_; _in the background is the great Cathedral of Padua_; _the architecture is Romanesque_, _and wrought in black and white marbles_; _a flight of marble steps leads up to the Cathedral door_; _at the foot of the steps are two large stone lions_; _the houses on each aide of the stage have coloured awnings from their windows_, _and are flanked by stone arcades_; _on the right of the stage is the public fountain_, _with a triton in green bronze blowing from a conch_; _around the fountain is a stone seat_; _the bell of the Cathedral is ringing_, _and the citizens_, _men_, _women and children_, _are passing into the Cathedral_.

[_Enter_ GUIDO FERRANTI _and_ ASCANIO CRISTOFANO.]

Now by my life, Guido, I will go no farther; for if I walk another step I will have no life left to swear by; this wild-goose errand of yours!

[_Sits down on the step of the fountain_.]

GUIDO

I think it must be here. [_Goes up to passer-by and doffs his cap_.] Pray, sir, is this the market place, and that the church of Santa Croce? [_Citizen bows_.] I thank you, sir.

ASCANIO

Well?

GUIDO

Ay! it is here.

ASCANIO

I would it were somewhere else, for I see no wine-shop.

GUIDO

[_Taking a letter from his pocket and reading it_.] ‘The hour noon; the city, Padua; the place, the market; and the day, Saint Philip’s Day.’

ASCANIO

And what of the man, how shall we know him?

GUIDO [_reading still_]

‘I will wear a violet cloak with a silver falcon broidered on the shoulder.’ A brave attire, Ascanio.

ASCANIO

I’d sooner have my leathern jerkin. And you think he will tell you of your father?

GUIDO

Why, yes! It is a month ago now, you remember; I was in the vineyard, just at the corner nearest the road, where the goats used to get in, a man rode up and asked me was my name Guido, and gave me this letter, signed ‘Your Father’s Friend,’ bidding me be here to-day if I would know the secret of my birth, and telling me how to recognise the writer! I had always thought old Pedro was my uncle, but he told me that he was not, but that I had been left a child in his charge by some one he had never since seen.

ASCANIO

And you don’t know who your father is?

GUIDO

No.

ASCANIO

No recollection of him even?

GUIDO

None, Ascanio, none.

ASCANIO [_laughing_]

Then he could never have boxed your ears so often as my father did mine.

GUIDO [_smiling_]

I am sure you never deserved it.

ASCANIO

Never; and that made it worse. I hadn’t the consciousness of guilt to buoy me up. What hour did you say he fixed?

GUIDO

Noon.

[_Clock in the Cathedral strikes_.]

ASCANIO

It is that now, and your man has not come. I don’t believe in him, Guido. I think it is some wench who has set her eye at you; and, as I have followed you from Perugia to Padua, I swear you shall follow me to the nearest tavern. [_Rises_.] By the great gods of eating, Guido, I am as hungry as a widow is for a husband, as tired as a young maid is of good advice, and as dry as a monk’s sermon. Come, Guido, you stand there looking at nothing, like the fool who tried to look into his own mind; your man will not come.

GUIDO

Well, I suppose you are right. Ah! [_Just as he is leaving the stage with_ ASCANIO, _enter_ LORD MORANZONE _in a violet cloak_, _with a silver falcon broidered on the shoulder_; _he passes across to the Cathedral_, _and just as he is going in_ GUIDO _runs up and touches him_.]

MORANZONE

Guido Ferranti, thou hast come in time.

GUIDO

What! Does my father live?

MORANZONE

Ay! lives in thee. Thou art the same in mould and lineament, Carriage and form, and outward semblances; I trust thou art in noble mind the same.

GUIDO

Oh, tell me of my father; I have lived But for this moment.

MORANZONE

We must be alone.

GUIDO

This is my dearest friend, who out of love Has followed me to Padua; as two brothers, There is no secret which we do not share.

MORANZONE

There is one secret which ye shall not share; Bid him go hence.

GUIDO [_to_ ASCANIO]

Come back within the hour. He does not know that nothing in this world Can dim the perfect mirror of our love. Within the hour come.

ASCANIO

Speak not to him, There is a dreadful terror in his look.

GUIDO [_laughing_]

Nay, nay, I doubt not that he has come to tell That I am some great Lord of Italy, And we will have long days of joy together. Within the hour, dear Ascanio.

[_Exit_ ASCANIO.]

Now tell me of my father? [_Sits down on a stone seat_.] Stood he tall? I warrant he looked tall upon his horse. His hair was black? or perhaps a reddish gold, Like a red fire of gold? Was his voice low? The very bravest men have voices sometimes Full of low music; or a clarion was it That brake with terror all his enemies? Did he ride singly? or with many squires And valiant gentlemen to serve his state? For oftentimes methinks I feel my veins Beat with the blood of kings. Was he a king?

MORANZONE

Ay, of all men he was the kingliest.

GUIDO [_proudly_]

Then when you saw my noble father last He was set high above the heads of men?

MORANZONE

Ay, he was high above the heads of men,

[_Walks over to_ GUIDO _and puts his hand upon his shoulder_.]

On a red scaffold, with a butcher’s block Set for his neck.

GUIDO [_leaping up_]

What dreadful man art thou, That like a raven, or the midnight owl, Com’st with this awful message from the grave?

MORANZONE

I am known here as the Count Moranzone, Lord of a barren castle on a rock, With a few acres of unkindly land And six not thrifty servants. But I was one Of Parma’s noblest princes; more than that, I was your father’s friend.

GUIDO [_clasping his hand_]

Tell me of him.

MORANZONE

You are the son of that great Duke Lorenzo, He was the Prince of Parma, and the Duke Of all the fair domains of Lombardy Down to the gates of Florence; nay, Florence even Was wont to pay him tribute—

GUIDO

Come to his death.

MORANZONE

You will hear that soon enough. Being at war— O noble lion of war, that would not suffer Injustice done in Italy!—he led The very flower of chivalry against That foul adulterous Lord of Rimini, Giovanni Malatesta—whom God curse! And was by him in treacherous ambush taken, And like a villain, or a low-born knave, Was by him on the public scaffold murdered.

GUIDO [_clutching his dagger_]

Doth Malatesta live?

MORANZONE

No, he is dead.

GUIDO

Did you say dead? O too swift runner, Death, Couldst thou not wait for me a little space, And I had done thy bidding!

MORANZONE [_clutching his wrist_]

Thou canst do it! The man who sold thy father is alive.

GUIDO

Sold! was my father sold?

MORANZONE

Ay! trafficked for, Like a vile chattel, for a price betrayed, Bartered and bargained for in privy market By one whom he had held his perfect friend, One he had trusted, one he had well loved, One whom by ties of kindness he had bound—

GUIDO

And he lives Who sold my father?

MORANZONE

I will bring you to him.

GUIDO

So, Judas, thou art living! well, I will make This world thy field of blood, so buy it straight-way, For thou must hang there.

MORANZONE

Judas said you, boy? Yes, Judas in his treachery, but still He was more wise than Judas was, and held Those thirty silver pieces not enough.

GUIDO

What got he for my father’s blood?

MORANZONE

What got he? Why cities, fiefs, and principalities, Vineyards, and lands.

GUIDO

Of which he shall but keep Six feet of ground to rot in. Where is he, This damned villain, this foul devil? where? Show me the man, and come he cased in steel, In complete panoply and pride of war, Ay, guarded by a thousand men-at-arms, Yet I shall reach him through their spears, and feel The last black drop of blood from his black heart Crawl down my blade. Show me the man, I say, And I will kill him.

MORANZONE [_coldly_]

Fool, what revenge is there? Death is the common heritage of all, And death comes best when it comes suddenly.

[_Goes up close to_ GUIDO.]

Your father was betrayed, there is your cue; For you shall sell the seller in his turn. I will make you of his household, you shall sit At the same board with him, eat of his bread—

GUIDO

O bitter bread!

MORANZONE

Thy palate is too nice, Revenge will make it sweet. Thou shalt o’ nights Pledge him in wine, drink from his cup, and be His intimate, so he will fawn on thee, Love thee, and trust thee in all secret things. If he bid thee be merry thou must laugh, And if it be his humour to be sad Thou shalt don sables. Then when the time is ripe—

[GUIDO _clutches his sword_.]

Nay, nay, I trust thee not; your hot young blood, Undisciplined nature, and too violent rage Will never tarry for this great revenge, But wreck itself on passion.

GUIDO

Thou knowest me not. Tell me the man, and I in everything Will do thy bidding.

MORANZONE

Well, when the time is ripe, The victim trusting and the occasion sure, I will by sudden secret messenger Send thee a sign.

GUIDO

How shall I kill him, tell me?

MORANZONE

That night thou shalt creep into his private chamber; But if he sleep see that thou wake him first, And hold thy hand upon his throat, ay! that way, Then having told him of what blood thou art, Sprung from what father, and for what revenge, Bid him to pray for mercy; when he prays, Bid him to set a price upon his life, And when he strips himself of all his gold Tell him thou needest not gold, and hast not mercy, And do thy business straight away. Swear to me Thou wilt not kill him till I bid thee do it, Or else I go to mine own house, and leave Thee ignorant, and thy father unavenged.

GUIDO

Now by my father’s sword—

MORANZONE

The common hangman Brake that in sunder in the public square.

GUIDO

Then by my father’s grave—

MORANZONE

What grave? what grave? Your noble father lieth in no grave, I saw his dust strewn on the air, his ashes Whirled through the windy streets like common straws To plague a beggar’s eyesight, and his head, That gentle head, set on the prison spike, For the vile rabble in their insolence To shoot their tongues at.

GUIDO

Was it so indeed? Then by my father’s spotless memory, And by the shameful manner of his death, And by the base betrayal by his friend, For these at least remain, by these I swear I will not lay my hand upon his life Until you bid me, then—God help his soul, For he shall die as never dog died yet. And now, the sign, what is it?

MORANZONE

This dagger, boy; It was your father’s.

GUIDO

Oh, let me look at it! I do remember now my reputed uncle, That good old husbandman I left at home, Told me a cloak wrapped round me when a babe Bare too such yellow leopards wrought in gold; I like them best in steel, as they are here, They suit my purpose better. Tell me, sir, Have you no message from my father to me?

MORANZONE

Poor boy, you never saw that noble father, For when by his false friend he had been sold, Alone of all his gentlemen I escaped To bear the news to Parma to the Duchess.

GUIDO

Speak to me of my mother.

MORANZONE

When thy mother Heard my black news, she fell into a swoon, And, being with untimely travail seized— Bare thee into the world before thy time, And then her soul went heavenward, to wait Thy father, at the gates of Paradise.

GUIDO

A mother dead, a father sold and bartered! I seem to stand on some beleaguered wall, And messenger comes after messenger With a new tale of terror; give me breath, Mine ears are tired.

MORANZONE

When thy mother died, Fearing our enemies, I gave it out Thou wert dead also, and then privily Conveyed thee to an ancient servitor, Who by Perugia lived; the rest thou knowest.

GUIDO

Saw you my father afterwards?

MORANZONE

Ay! once; In mean attire, like a vineyard dresser, I stole to Rimini.

GUIDO [_taking his hand_]

O generous heart!

MORANZONE

One can buy everything in Rimini, And so I bought the gaolers! when your father Heard that a man child had been born to him, His noble face lit up beneath his helm Like a great fire seen far out at sea, And taking my two hands, he bade me, Guido, To rear you worthy of him; so I have reared you To revenge his death upon the friend who sold him.

GUIDO

Thou hast done well; I for my father thank thee. And now his name?

MORANZONE

How you remind me of him, You have each gesture that your father had.

GUIDO

The traitor’s name?

MORANZONE

Thou wilt hear that anon; The Duke and other nobles at the Court Are coming hither.

GUIDO

What of that? his name?

MORANZONE

Do they not seem a valiant company Of honourable, honest gentlemen?

GUIDO

His name, milord?

[_Enter the_ DUKE OF PADUA _with_ COUNT BARDI, MAFFIO, PETRUCCI, _and other gentlemen of his Court_.]

MORANZONE [_quickly_]

The man to whom I kneel Is he who sold your father! mark me well.

GUIDO [_clutches hit dagger_]

The Duke!

MORANZONE

Leave off that fingering of thy knife. Hast thou so soon forgotten? [_Kneels to the_ DUKE.] My noble Lord.

DUKE

Welcome, Count Moranzone; ’tis some time Since we have seen you here in Padua. We hunted near your castle yesterday— Call you it castle? that bleak house of yours Wherein you sit a-mumbling o’er your beads, Telling your vices like a good old man.

[_Catches sight of_ GUIDO _and starts back_.]

Who is that?

MORANZONE

My sister’s son, your Grace, Who being now of age to carry arms, Would for a season tarry at your Court

DUKE [_still looking at_ GUIDO]

What is his name?

MORANZONE

Guido Ferranti, sir.

DUKE

His city?

MORANZONE

He is Mantuan by birth.

DUKE [_advancing towards_ GUIDO]

You have the eyes of one I used to know, But he died childless. Are you honest, boy? Then be not spendthrift of your honesty, But keep it to yourself; in Padua Men think that honesty is ostentatious, so It is not of the fashion. Look at these lords.

COUNT BARDI [_aside_]

Here is some bitter arrow for us, sure.

DUKE

Why, every man among them has his price, Although, to do them justice, some of them Are quite expensive.

COUNT BARDI [_aside_]

There it comes indeed.

DUKE

So be not honest; eccentricity Is not a thing should ever be encouraged, Although, in this dull stupid age of ours, The most eccentric thing a man can do Is to have brains, then the mob mocks at him; And for the mob, despise it as I do, I hold its bubble praise and windy favours In such account, that popularity Is the one insult I have never suffered.

MAFFIO [_aside_]

He has enough of hate, if he needs that.

DUKE

Have prudence; in your dealings with the world Be not too hasty; act on the second thought, First impulses are generally good.

GUIDO [_aside_]

Surely a toad sits on his lips, and spills its venom there.

DUKE

See thou hast enemies, Else will the world think very little of thee; It is its test of power; yet see thou show’st A smiling mask of friendship to all men, Until thou hast them safely in thy grip, Then thou canst crush them.

GUIDO [_aside_]

O wise philosopher! That for thyself dost dig so deep a grave.

MORANZONE [_to him_]

Dost thou mark his words?

GUIDO

Oh, be thou sure I do.

DUKE

And be not over-scrupulous; clean hands With nothing in them make a sorry show. If you would have the lion’s share of life You must wear the fox’s skin. Oh, it will fit you; It is a coat which fitteth every man.

GUIDO

Your Grace, I shall remember.

DUKE

That is well, boy, well. I would not have about me shallow fools, Who with mean scruples weigh the gold of life, And faltering, paltering, end by failure; failure, The only crime which I have not committed: I would have _men_ about me. As for conscience, Conscience is but the name which cowardice Fleeing from battle scrawls upon its shield. You understand me, boy?

GUIDO

I do, your Grace, And will in all things carry out the creed Which you have taught me.

MAFFIO

I never heard your Grace So much in the vein for preaching; let the Cardinal Look to his laurels, sir.

DUKE

The Cardinal! Men follow my creed, and they gabble his. I do not think much of the Cardinal; Although he is a holy churchman, and I quite admit his dulness. Well, sir, from now We count you of our household

[_He holds out his hand for_ GUIDO _to kiss_. GUIDO _starts back in horror_, _but at a gesture from_ COUNT MORANZONE, _kneels and kisses it_.]

We will see That you are furnished with such equipage As doth befit your honour and our state.

GUIDO

I thank your Grace most heartily.

DUKE

Tell me again What is your name?

GUIDO

Guido Ferranti, sir.

DUKE

And you are Mantuan? Look to your wives, my lords, When such a gallant comes to Padua. Thou dost well to laugh, Count Bardi; I have noted How merry is that husband by whose hearth Sits an uncomely wife.

MAFFIO

May it please your Grace, The wives of Padua are above suspicion.

DUKE

What, are they so ill-favoured! Let us go, This Cardinal detains our pious Duchess; His sermon and his beard want cutting both: Will you come with us, sir, and hear a text From holy Jerome?

MORANZONE [_bowing_]

My liege, there are some matters—

DUKE [_interrupting_]

Thou need’st make no excuse for missing mass. Come, gentlemen.

[_Exit with his suite into Cathedral_.]

GUIDO [_after a pause_]

So the Duke sold my father; I kissed his hand.

MORANZONE

Thou shalt do that many times.

GUIDO

Must it be so?

MORANZONE

Ay! thou hast sworn an oath.

GUIDO

That oath shall make me marble.

MORANZONE

Farewell, boy, Thou wilt not see me till the time is ripe.

GUIDO

I pray thou comest quickly.

MORANZONE

I will come When it is time; be ready.

GUIDO

Fear me not.

MORANZONE

Here is your friend; see that you banish him Both from your heart and Padua.

GUIDO

From Padua, Not from my heart.

MORANZONE

Nay, from thy heart as well, I will not leave thee till I see thee do it.

GUIDO

Can I have no friend?

MORANZONE

Revenge shall be thy friend; Thou need’st no other.

GUIDO

Well, then be it so.

[_Enter_ ASCANIO CRISTOFANO.]

ASCANIO

Come, Guido, I have been beforehand with you in everything, for I have drunk a flagon of wine, eaten a pasty, and kissed the maid who served it. Why, you look as melancholy as a schoolboy who cannot buy apples, or a politician who cannot sell his vote. What news, Guido, what news?

GUIDO

Why, that we two must part, Ascanio.

ASCANIO

That would be news indeed, but it is not true.

GUIDO

Too true it is, you must get hence, Ascanio, And never look upon my face again.

ASCANIO

No, no; indeed you do not know me, Guido; ’Tis true I am a common yeoman’s son, Nor versed in fashions of much courtesy; But, if you are nobly born, cannot I be Your serving man? I will tend you with more love Than any hired servant.

GUIDO [_clasping his hand_]

Ascanio!

[_Sees_ MORANZONE _looking at him and drops_ ASCANIO’S _hand_.]

It cannot be.

ASCANIO

What, is it so with you? I thought the friendship of the antique world Was not yet dead, but that the Roman type Might even in this poor and common age Find counterparts of love; then by this love Which beats between us like a summer sea, Whatever lot has fallen to your hand May I not share it?

GUIDO

Share it?

ASCANIO

Ay!

GUIDO

No, no.

ASCANIO

Have you then come to some inheritance Of lordly castle, or of stored-up gold?

GUIDO [_bitterly_]

Ay! I have come to my inheritance. O bloody legacy! and O murderous dole! Which, like the thrifty miser, must I hoard, And to my own self keep; and so, I pray you, Let us part here.

ASCANIO

What, shall we never more Sit hand in hand, as we were wont to sit, Over some book of ancient chivalry Stealing a truant holiday from school, Follow the huntsmen through the autumn woods, And watch the falcons burst their tasselled jesses, When the hare breaks from covert.

GUIDO

Never more.

ASCANIO

Must I go hence without a word of love?

GUIDO

You must go hence, and may love go with you.

ASCANIO

You are unknightly, and ungenerous.

GUIDO

Unknightly and ungenerous if you will. Why should we waste more words about the matter Let us part now.

ASCANIO

Have you no message, Guido?

GUIDO

None; my whole past was but a schoolboy’s dream; To-day my life begins. Farewell.

ASCANIO

Farewell [_exit slowly_.]

GUIDO

Now are you satisfied? Have you not seen My dearest friend, and my most loved companion, Thrust from me like a common kitchen knave! Oh, that I did it! Are you not satisfied?

MORANZONE

Ay! I am satisfied. Now I go hence, Do not forget the sign, your father’s dagger, And do the business when I send it to you.

GUIDO

Be sure I shall. [_Exit_ LORD MORANZONE.]

GUIDO