Delphi Complete Works of Oscar Wilde (Illustrated) (19 page)

DUCHESS
Alas!

GUIDO
[falling at her feet]
You are my lady, and you are my love!
O hair of gold, O crimson lips, O face
Made for the luring and the love of man!
Incarnate image of pure loveliness!
Worshipping thee I do forget the past,
Worshipping thee my soul comes close to thine,
Worshipping thee I seem to be a god,
And though they give my body to the block,
Yet is my love eternal!
[DUCHESS puts her hands over her face: GUIDO draws them down.]
Sweet, lift up
The trailing curtains that overhang your eyes
That I may look into those eyes, and tell you
I love you, never more than now when Death
Thrusts his cold lips between us: Beatrice,
I love you: have you no word left to say?
Oh, I can bear the executioner,
But not this silence: will you not say you love me?
Speak but that word and Death shall lose his sting,
But speak it not, and fifty thousand deaths
Are, in comparison, mercy.  Oh, you are cruel,
And do not love me.

DUCHESS
Alas!  I have no right
For I have stained the innocent hands of love
With spilt-out blood: there is blood on the ground;
I set it there.

GUIDO
Sweet, it was not yourself,
It was some devil tempted you.

DUCHESS
[rising suddenly]
No, no,
We are each our own devil, and we make
This world our hell.

GUIDO
Then let high Paradise
Fall into Tartarus! for I shall make
This world my heaven for a little space.
The sin was mine, if any sin there was.
’Twas I who nurtured murder in my heart,
Sweetened my meats, seasoned my wine with it,
And in my fancy slew the accursed Duke
A hundred times a day.  Why, had this man
Died half so often as I wished him to,
Death had been stalking ever through the house,
And murder had not slept.
But you, fond heart,
Whose little eyes grew tender over a whipt hound,
You whom the little children laughed to see
Because you brought the sunlight where you passed,
You the white angel of God’s purity,
This which men call your sin, what was it?

DUCHESS
Ay!
What was it?  There are times it seems a dream,
An evil dream sent by an evil god,
And then I see the dead face in the coffin
And know it is no dream, but that my hand
Is red with blood, and that my desperate soul
Striving to find some haven for its love
From the wild tempest of this raging world,
Has wrecked its bark upon the rocks of sin.
What was it, said you? - murder merely?  Nothing
But murder, horrible murder.

GUIDO
Nay, nay, nay,
’Twas but the passion-flower of your love
That in one moment leapt to terrible life,
And in one moment bare this gory fruit,
Which I had plucked in thought a thousand times.
My soul was murderous, but my hand refused;
Your hand wrought murder, but your soul was pure.
And so I love you, Beatrice, and let him
Who has no mercy for your stricken head,
Lack mercy up in heaven!  Kiss me, sweet.
[Tries to kiss her.]

DUCHESS
No, no, your lips are pure, and mine are soiled,
For Guilt has been my paramour, and Sin
Lain in my bed: O Guido, if you love me
Get hence, for every moment is a worm
Which gnaws your life away: nay, sweet, get hence,
And if in after time you think of me,
Think of me as of one who loved you more
Than anything on earth; think of me, Guido,
As of a woman merely, one who tried
To make her life a sacrifice to love,
And slew love in the trial: Oh, what is that?
The bell has stopped from ringing, and I hear
The feet of armed men upon the stair.

GUIDO
[aside]
That is the signal for the guard to come.

DUCHESS
Why has the bell stopped ringing?

GUIDO
If you must know,
That stops my life on this side of the grave,
But on the other we shall meet again.

DUCHESS
No, no, ’tis not too late: you must get hence;
The horse is by the bridge, there is still time.
Away, away, you must not tarry here!
[Noise of Soldiers in the passage.]

A VOICE OUTSIDE
Room for the Lord Justice of Padua!
[The LORD JUSTICE is seen through the grated window passing down the corridor preceded by men bearing torches.]

DUCHESS
It is too late.

A VOICE OUTSIDE
Room for the headsman.

DUCHESS
[sinks down]
Oh!
[The Headsman with his axe on his shoulder is seen passing the corridor, followed by Monks bearing candles.]

GUIDO
Farewell, dear love, for I must drink this poison.
I do not fear the headsman, but I would die
Not on the lonely scaffold.
But here,
Here in thine arms, kissing thy mouth: farewell!
[Goes to the table and takes the goblet up.]
  What, art thou empty?
[Throws it to the ground.]
O thou churlish gaoler,
Even of poisons niggard!

DUCHESS
[faintly]
Blame him not.

GUIDO
O God! you have not drunk it, Beatrice?
Tell me you have not?

DUCHESS
Were I to deny it,
There is a fire eating at my heart
Which would find utterance.

GUIDO
O treacherous love,
Why have you not left a drop for me?

DUCHESS
No, no, it held but death enough for one.

GUIDO
Is there no poison still upon your lips,
That I may draw it from them?

DUCHESS
Why should you die?
You have not spilt blood, and so need not die:
I have spilt blood, and therefore I must die.
Was it not said blood should be spilt for blood?
Who said that?  I forget.

GUIDO
Tarry for me,
Our souls will go together.

DUCHESS
Nay, you must live.
There are many other women in the world
Who will love you, and not murder for your sake.

GUIDO
I love you only.

DUCHESS
You need not die for that.

GUIDO
Ah, if we die together, love, why then
Can we not lie together in one grave?

DUCHESS
A grave is but a narrow wedding-bed.

GUIDO
It is enough for us

DUCHESS
And they will strew it
With a stark winding-sheet, and bitter herbs:
I think there are no roses in the grave,
Or if there are, they all are withered now
Since my Lord went there.

GUIDO
Ah! dear Beatrice,
Your lips are roses that death cannot wither.

DUCHESS
Nay, if we lie together, will not my lips
Fall into dust, and your enamoured eyes
Shrivel to sightless sockets, and the worms,
Which are our groomsmen, eat away your heart?

GUIDO
I do not care: Death has no power on love.
And so by Love’s immortal sovereignty
I will die with you.

DUCHESS
But the grave is black,
And the pit black, so I must go before
To light the candles for your coming hither.
No, no, I will not die, I will not die.
Love, you are strong, and young, and very brave;
Stand between me and the angel of death,
And wrestle with him for me.
[Thrusts GUIDO in front of her with his back to the audience.]
I will kiss you,
When you have thrown him.  Oh, have you no cordial,
To stay the workings of this poison in me?
Are there no rivers left in Italy
That you will not fetch me one cup of water
To quench this fire?

GUIDO
O God!

DUCHESS
You did not tell me
There was a drought in Italy, and no water:
Nothing but fire.

GUIDO
O Love!

DUCHESS
Send for a leech,
Not him who stanched my husband, but another
We have no time: send for a leech, I say:
There is an antidote against each poison,
And he will sell it if we give him money.
Tell him that I will give him Padua,
For one short hour of life: I will not die.
Oh, I am sick to death; no, do not touch me,
This poison gnaws my heart: I did not know
It was such pain to die: I thought that life
Had taken all the agonies to itself;
It seems it is not so.

GUIDO
O damnéd stars
Quench your vile cresset-lights in tears, and bid
The moon, your mistress, shine no more to-night.

DUCHESS
Guido, why are we here?  I think this room
Is poorly furnished for a marriage chamber.
Let us get hence at once.  Where are the horses?
We should be on our way to Venice now.
How cold the night is!  We must ride faster.
[The Monks begin to chant outside.]
Music!  It should be merrier; but grief
Is of the fashion now - I know not why.
You must not weep: do we not love each other? -
That is enough.  Death, what do you here?
You were not bidden to this table, sir;
Away, we have no need of you: I tell you
It was in wine I pledged you, not in poison.
They lied who told you that I drank your poison.
It was spilt upon the ground, like my Lord’s blood;
You came too late.

GUIDO
Sweet, there is nothing there:
These things are only unreal shadows.

DUCHESS
Death,
Why do you tarry, get to the upper chamber;
The cold meats of my husband’s funeral feast
Are set for you; this is a wedding feast.
You are out of place, sir; and, besides, ’tis summer.
We do not need these heavy fires now,
You scorch us.
Oh, I am burned up,
Can you do nothing?  Water, give me water,
Or else more poison.  No: I feel no pain -
Is it not curious I should feel no pain? -
And Death has gone away, I am glad of that.
I thought he meant to part us.  Tell me, Guido,
Are you not sorry that you ever saw me?

GUIDO
I swear I would not have lived otherwise.
Why, in this dull and common world of ours
Men have died looking for such moments as this
And have not found them.

DUCHESS
Then you are not sorry?
How strange that seems.

GUIDO
What, Beatrice, have I not
Stood face to face with beauty?  That is enough
For one man’s life.  Why, love, I could be merry;
I have been often sadder at a feast,
But who were sad at such a feast as this
When Love and Death are both our cup-bearers?
We love and die together.

DUCHESS
Oh, I have been
Guilty beyond all women, and indeed
Beyond all women punished.  Do you think -
No, that could not be - Oh, do you think that love
Can wipe the bloody stain from off my hands,
Pour balm into my wounds, heal up my hurts,
And wash my scarlet sins as white as snow? -
For I have sinned.

GUIDO
They do not sin at all
Who sin for love.

DUCHESS
No, I have sinned, and yet
Perchance my sin will be forgiven me.
I have loved much

[They kiss each other now for the first time in this Act, when suddenly the DUCHESS leaps up in the dreadful spasm of death, tears in agony at her dress, and finally, with face twisted and distorted with pain, falls back dead in a chair.  GUIDO seizing her dagger from her belt, kills himself; and, as he falls across her knees, clutches at the cloak which is on the back of the chair, and throws it entirely over her.  There is a little pause.  Then down the passage comes the tramp of Soldiers; the door is opened, and the LORD JUSTICE, the Headsman, and the Guard enter and see this figure shrouded in black, and GUIDO lying dead across her.  The LORD JUSTICE rushes forward and drags the cloak off the DUCHESS, whose face is now the marble image of peace, the sign of God’s forgiveness.]

Tableau

CURTAIN

A Play about a Good Woman

By the summer of 1891 Wilde had already written three plays. However,
Vera; or, The Nihilists
and
The Duchess of Padua
had found little success, whilst
Salome
had been censored. Unperturbed, he turned from writing tragedy to composing a comedy, hoping for better success with his audiences. He travelled to the Lake District in the north of England to stay with a friend, in search of inspiration. Wilde, with the encouragement of Sir George Alexander, the actor manager of St James’s Theatre, began writing a play in earnest. Interestingly, several characters in
Lady Windermere’s Fan
draw their names from the north of England: Lady Windermere from the lake and nearby town Windermere, the Duchess of Berwick from Berwick-upon-Tweed and Lord Darlington from Darlington.

By October the play was finished and Wilde offered it to Alexander, who liked the drama and offered the playwright an advance of £1,000. Wilde, impressed by his confidence, opted to take a percentage instead, from which he would earn £7,000 in the first year alone. Alexander was a meticulous manager and they began exhaustive revisions and rehearsals.
Lady Windermere’s Fan
was first produced on 22 February 1892 at the St James Theatre in London and was an astounding success. Like many of Wilde’s comedies, it bitterly satirises the morals of Victorian society.

The story concerns Lady Windermere, who suspects her husband might be having an affair with another woman. She confronts her husband, but he instead invites the other woman, Mrs. Erlynne, to her birthday ball. Angered by her husband’s unfaithfulness, Lady Windermere leaves her husband for another lover. After discovering what has transpired, Mrs Erlynne follows Lady Windermere and attempts to persuade her to return to her husband and during this confrontation a shocking secret is revealed.