The Duchess of Malfi

by Frank Kermode

  What care I what he does? this he did say.

  KING. Melantius, you can easily conceive

  What I have meant; for men that are in fault

  Can subtly apprehend when others aim

  At what they do amiss: but I forgive

  Freely before this man: heaven do so too!

  I will not touch thee, so much as with shame

  Of telling it. Let it be so no more.

  CAL. Why, this is very fine!

  MEL. I cannot tell

  What ’tis you mean; but I am apt enough

  Rudely to thrust into an ignorant fault.

  But let me know it: happily ’tis nought

  But misconstruction; and, where I am clear,

  I will not take forgiveness of the gods,

  Much less of you.

  KING. Nay, if you stand so stiff

  I shall call back my mercy.

  MEL. I want smoothness

  To thank a man for pardoning of a crime

  I never knew.

  KING. Not to instruct your knowledge, but to show you

  My ears are every where; you meant to kill me,

  And get the fort to scape.

  MEL. Pardon me, sir;

  My bluntness will be pardoned. You preserve

  A race of idle people here about you,

  Facers56 and talkers, to defame the worth

  Of those that do things worthy. The man that uttered this

  Had perished without food, be’t who it will,

  But for this arm, that fenced him from the foe:

  And if I thought you gave a faith to this,

  The plainness of my nature would speak more.

  Give me a pardon (for you ought to do’t)

  To kill him that spake this.

  CAL. [Aside] Ay, that will be

  The end of all: then I am fairly paid

  For all my care and service.—

  MEL. That old man,

  Who calls me enemy, and of whom I

  (Though I will never match my hate so low)

  Have no good thought, would yet, I think, excuse me,

  And swear he thought me wronged in this.

  CAL. Who, I?

  Thou shameless fellow! didst thou not speak to me

  Of it thyself?

  MEL. O, then, it came from him!

  CAL. From me! who should it come from but from me?

  MEL. Nay, I believe your malice is enough:

  But I ha’ lost my anger.—Sir, I hope

  You are well satisfied.

  KING. Lysippus, cheer

  Amintor and his lady: there’s no sound

  Comes from you; I will come and do’t myself.

  AMIN. You have done already, sir, for me, I thank you.

  KING. Melantius, I do credit this from him,

  How slight soe’er you make’t.

  MEL. ’Tis strange you should.

  CAL. ’Tis strange ’a should believe an old man’s word,

  That never lied in’s life!

  MEL. I talk not to thee.—

  Shall the wild words of this distempered man,

  Frantic with age and sorrow, make a breach

  Betwixt your majesty and me? ’Twas wrong

  To hearken to him; but to credit him,

  As much at least as I have power to bear.

  But pardon me—whilst I speak only truth,

  I may commend myself—I have bestowed

  My careless blood57 with you, and should be loath

  To think an action that would make me lose

  That and my thanks too. When I was a boy,

  I thrust myself into my country’s cause,

  And did a deed that plucked five years from time,

  And styled me man then. And for you, my King,

  Your subjects all have fed by virtue of

  My arm: this sword of mine hath ploughed the ground,

  And reaped the fruit in peace;

  And you yourself have lived at home in ease.

  So terrible I grew, that without swords

  My name hath fetched you conquest: and my heart

  And limbs are still the same; my will as great

  To do you service. Let me not be paid

  With such a strange distrust.

  KING. Melantius, I held it great injustice to believe

  Thine enemy, and did not; if I did,

  I do not; let that satisfy.—What, struck

  With sadness all? More wine!

  CAL. A few fine words

  Have overthrown my truth. Ah, th’art a villain!

  MEL. Why, thou wert better let me have the fort:

  [Aside] Dotard, I will disgrace thee thus for ever;

  There shall no credit lie upon thy words:

  Think better, and deliver it.

  CAL. My liege,

  He’s at me now again to do it.—Speak;

  Deny it, if thou canst.—Examine him

  Whilst he is hot, for, if he cool again,

  He will forswear it.

  KING. This is lunacy,

  I hope, Melantius.

  MEL. He hath lost himself

  Much, since his daughter missed the happiness

  My sister gained; and, though he call me foe,

  I pity him.

  CAL. Pity! a pox upon you!

  MEL. Mark his disordered words: and at the masque

  Diagoras knows he raged and railed at me,

  And called a lady “whore,” so innocent

  She understood him not. But it becomes

  Both you and me too to forgive distraction:

  Pardon him, as I do.

  CAL. I’ll not speak for thee,

  For all thy cunning.—If you will be safe,

  Chop off his head; for there was never known

  So impudent a rascal.

  KING. Some, that love him,

  Get him to bed. Why, pity should not let

  Age make itself contemptible; we must be

  All old. Have him away.

  MEL. Calianax,

  The King believes you: come, you shall go home,

  And rest; you ha’ done well. [Aside]—You’ll give it up,

  When I have used you thus a month, I hope.—

  CAL. Now, now, ’tis plain, sir: he does move me still:

  He says, he knows I’ll give him up the fort,

  When he has used me thus a month. I am mad,

  Am I not, still?

  ALL. Ha, ha, ha!

  CAL. I shall be mad indeed, if you do thus.

  Why should you trust a sturdy fellow there,

  That has no virtue in him, (all’s in his sword)

  Before me? Do but take his weapons from him,

  And he’s an ass; and I am a very fool,

  Both with him and without him, as you use me.

  ALL. Ha, ha, ha!

  KING. ’Tis well, Calianax: but if you use

  This once again, I shall entreat some other

  To see your offices be well discharged.—

  Be merry, gentlemen.—It grows somewhat late.—

  Amintor, thou wouldst be a-bed again.

  AMIN. Yes, sir.

  KING. And you, Evadne.—Let me take

  Thee in my arms, Melantius, and believe

  Thou art, as thou deservest to be, my friend

  Still and for ever.—Good Calianax,

  Sleep soundly; it will bring thee to thyself.

  Exeunt omnes. Manent Melantius and Calianax

  CAL. Sleep soundly! I sleep soundly now, I hope;

  I could not be thus else.—How darest thou stay

  Alone with me, knowing how thou hast used me?

  MEL. You cannot blast me with your tongue, and that’s

  The strongest part you have about you.

  CAL. I

  Do look for some great punishment for this;

  For I begin to forget all my hate,

  And take’t unkindly that mine enemy

  Should use me so extraordinarily
scurvily.

  MEL. I shall melt too, if you begin to take

  Unkindnesses: I never meant you hurt.

  CAL. Thou’lt anger me again. Thou wretched rogue,

  Meant me no hurt! disgrace me with the King!

  Lose all my offices! This is no hurt,

  Is it? I prithee, what dost thou call hurt?

  MEL. To poison men, because they love me not;

  To call the credit of men’s wives in question;

  To murder children betwixt me and land;58

  This is all hurt.

  CAL. All this thou think’st is sport;

  For mine is worse: but use thy will with me;

  For betwixt grief and anger I could cry.

  MEL. Be wise, then, and be safe; thou may’st revenge.

  CAL. Ay, o’ the King: I would revenge of thee.

  MEL. That you must plot yourself.

  CAL. I am a fine plotter.

  MEL. The short is, I will hold thee with the King

  In this perplexity, till peevishness

  And thy disgrace have laid thee in thy grave:

  But if thou wilt deliver up the fort,

  I’ll take thy trembling body in my arms,

  And bear thee over dangers: thou shalt hold

  Thy wonted state.

  CAL. If I should tell the King,

  Canst thou deny’t again?

  MEL. Try, and believe.

  CAL. Nay, then, thou canst bring any thing about.

  Melantius, thou shalt have the fort.

  MEL. Why, well.

  Here let our hate be buried; and this hand

  Shall right us both. Give me thy agèd breast

  To compass.

  CAL. Nay, I do not love thee yet;

  I cannot well endure to look on thee;

  And if I thought it were a courtesy,

  Thou shouldst not have it. But I am disgraced;

  My offices are to be ta’en away;

  And, if I did but hold this fort a day,

  I do believe the King would take it from me,

  And give it thee, things are so strangely carried.

  Ne’er thank me for’t; but yet the King shall know

  There was some such thing in’t I told him of,

  And that I was an honest man.

  MEL. He’ll buy

  That knowledge very dearly.—

  Enter Diphilus

  Diphilus,

  What news with thee?

  DIPH. This were a night indeed

  To do it in: the King hath sent for her.

  MEL. She shall perform it, then.—Go, Diphilus,

  And take from this good man, my worthy friend,

  The fort, he’ll give it thee.

  DIPH. Ha’ you got that?

  CAL. Art thou of the same breed? canst thou deny

  This to the King too?

  DIPH. With a confidence

  As great as his.

  CAL. Faith, like enough.

  MEL. Away, and use him kindly.

  CAL. Touch not me;

  I hate the whole strain.59 If thou follow me

  A great way off, I’ll give thee up the fort;

  And hang yourselves.

  MEL. Begone.

  DIPH. He’s finely wrought.

  Exeunt Calianax and Diphilus

  MEL. This is a night, spite of astronomers,60

  To do the deed in. I will wash the stain

  That rests upon our house off with his blood.

  Enter Amintor

  AMIN. Melantius, now assist me: if thou be’st

  That which thou say’st, assist me. I have lost

  All my distempers, and have found a rage

  So pleasing! Help me.

  MEL. [Aside] Who can see him thus,

  And not swear vengeance?—What’s the matter, friend?

  AMIN. Out with thy sword; and, hand in hand with me,

  Rush to the chamber of this hated King,

  And sink him with the weight of all his sins

  To hell for ever.

  MEL. ’Twere a rash attempt,

  Not to be done with safety. Let your reason

  Plot your revenge, and not your passion.

  AMIN. If thou refusest me in these extremes,

  Thou art no friend. He sent for her to me;

  By heaven, to me, myself! and I must tell ye,

  I love her as a stranger: there is worth

  In that vile woman, worthy things, Melantius;

  And she repents. I’ll do’t myself alone,

  Though I be slain. Farewell.

  MEL. He’ll overthrow

  My whole design with madness.—Amintor,

  Think what thou dost: I dare as much as valor;

  But ’tis the King, the King, the King, Amintor,

  With whom thou fightest!—[Aside] I know he’s honest,

  And this will work with him.—

  AMIN. I cannot tell

  What thou hast said; but thou hast charmed my sword

  Out of my hand, and left me shaking here,

  Defenceless.

  MEL. I will take it up for thee.

  AMIN. What wild beast is uncollected61 man!

  The thing that we call honor bears us all

  Headlong unto sin, and yet itself is nothing.

  MEL. Alas, how variable are thy thoughts!

  AMIN. Just like my fortunes. I was run to62 that

  I purposed to have chid thee for. Some plot,

  I did distrust, thou hadst against the King,

  By that old fellow’s carriage. But take heed;

  There’s not the least limb growing to a king

  But carries thunder in it.

  MEL. I have none

  Against him.

  AMIN. Why, come, then; and still remember

  We may not think revenge.

  MEL. I will remember.

  Exeunt

  ACT V, SCENE I

  Enter Evadne and a Gentleman

  EVAD. Sir, is the King a-bed?

  GENT. Madam, an hour ago.

  EVAD. Give me the key, then; and let none be near;

  ’Tis the King’s pleasure.

  GENT. I understand you, madam; would ’twere mine!

  I must not wish good rest unto your ladyship.

  EVAD. You talk, you talk.

  GENT. ’Tis all I dare do, madam; but the King

  Will wake, and then, methinks—

  EVAD. Saving your imagination, pray, good night, sir.

  GENT. A good night be it, then, and a long one, madam.

  I am gone.

  Exit

  EVAD. The night grows horrible; and all about me

  Like my black purpose. [Draws a curtain disclosing the King abed]

  O, the conscience

  Of a lost virtue, whither wilt thou pull me?

  To what things dismal as the depth of hell

  Wilt thou provoke me? Let no woman dare

  From this hour be disloyal, if her heart be flesh,

  If she have blood, and can fear. ’Tis a daring

  Above that desperate fool’s that left his peace,

  And went to sea to fight: ’tis so many sins

  An age cannot repent ’em; and so great,

  The gods want mercy for. Yet I must through ’em:

  I have begun a slaughter on my honor,

  And I must end it there.—’A sleeps. O God,

  Why give you peace to this untemperate beast,

  That hath so long transgressed you? I must kill him

  And I will do it bravely: the mere joy

  Tells me, I merit in it. Yet I must not

  Thus tamely do it, as he sleeps—that were

  To rock him to another world; my vengeance

  Shall take him waking, and then lay before him

  The number of his wrongs and punishments:

  I’ll shape his sins like Furies, till I waken

  His evil angel, his sick conscience,

  And then I’ll strike him de
ad. King, by your leave;

  [Ties his arms to the bed]

  I dare not trust your strength; your grace and I

  Must grapple upon even terms no more.

  So, if he rail me not from my resolution,

  I shall be strong enough.—

  My lord the King!—My lord!—’A sleeps,

  As if he meant to wake no more.—My lord!—

  Is he not dead already? Sir! my lord!

  KING. Who’s that?

  EVAD. O, you sleep soundly, sir!

  KING. My dear Evadne,

  I have been dreaming of thee: come to bed.

  EVAD. I am come at length, sir; but how welcome?

  KING. What pretty new device is this, Evadne?

  What, do you tie me to you? By my love,

  This is a quaint one. Come, my dear, and kiss me;

  I’ll be thy Mars;63 to bed, my queen of love:

  Let us be caught together, that the gods may see

  And envy our embraces.

  EVAD. Stay, sir, stay;

  You are too hot, and I have brought you physic

  To temper your high veins.

  KING. Prithee, to bed, then; let me take it warm;

  There thou shalt know the state of my body better.

  EVAD. I know you have a surfeited foul body;

  And you must bleed.

  [Draws a dagger]

  KING. Bleed!

  EVAD. Ay, you shall bleed. Lie still; and, if the devil,

  Your lust, will give you leave, repent. This steel

  Comes to redeem the honor that you stole,

  King, my fair name; which nothing but thy death

  Can answer to the world.

  KING. How’s this, Evadne?

  EVAD. I am not she; nor bear I in this breast

  So much cold spirit to be called a woman:

  I am a tiger; I am any thing

  That knows not pity. Stir not: if thou dost,

  I’ll take thee unprepared, thy fears upon thee,

  That make thy sins look double, and so send thee

  (By my revenge, I will!) to look those torments

  Prepared for such black souls.

  KING. Thou dost not mean this; ’tis impossible;

  Thou art too sweet and gentle.

  EVAD. NO, I am not:

  I am as foul as thou art, and can number

  As many such hells here. I was once fair,

  Once I was lovely; not a blowing rose

  More chastely sweet, till thou, thou, thou, foul canker,

  (Stir not) didst poison me. I was a world of virtue,

  Till your cursed court and you (hell bless you for’t)

  With your temptations on temptations

  Made me give up mine honor; for which, King,

  I am come to kill thee.

  KING. No!

  EVAD. I am.

  KING. Thou art not!

  I prithee speak not these things: thou art gentle,

  And wert not meant thus rugged.

  EVAD. Peace, and hear me.

  Stir nothing but your tongue, and that for mercy