The Duchess of Malfi

by Frank Kermode

  Exit

  PESC. Doctor, he did not fear you throughly.

  DOC. True;

  I was somewhat too forward.

  BOS. Mercy upon me,

  What a fatal judgment hath fallen upon this Ferdinand!

  PESC. Knows your grace what accident hath brought

  Unto the prince this strange distraction?

  CARD. [Aside] I must feign somewhat.—Thus they say it grew.

  You have heard it rumored, for these many years

  None of our family dies but there is seen

  The shape of an old woman, which is given

  By tradition to us to have been murdered

  By her nephews for her riches. Such a figure

  One night, as the prince sat up late at ’s book,

  Appeared to him; when crying out for help,

  The gentlemen of’s chamber found his grace

  All on a cold sweat, altered much in face

  And language: since which apparition,

  He hath grown worse and worse, and I much fear

  He cannot live.

  BOS. Sir, I would speak with you.

  PESC. We’ll leave your grace,

  Wishing to the sick prince, our noble lord,

  All health of mind and body.

  CARD. You are most welcome.

  Exeunt Pescara, Malateste, and Doctor

  Are you come? so.—[Aside] This fellow must not know

  By any means I had intelligence

  In our duchess’ death; for, though I counselled it,

  The full of all th’ engagement seemed to grow

  From Ferdinand.—Now, sir, how fares our sister?

  I do not think but sorrow makes her look

  Like to an oft-dyed garment: she shall now

  Taste comfort from me. Why do you look so wildly?

  Oh, the fortune of your master here the prince

  Dejects you; but be you of happy comfort:

  If you’ll do one thing for me I’ll entreat,

  Though he had a cold tombstone o’er his bones,

  I’d make you what you would be.

  BOS. Anything;

  Give it me in a breath, and let me fly to’t:

  They that think long small expedition win,

  For musing much o’ th’ end cannot begin.

  Enter Julia

  JUL. Sir, will you come in to supper?

  CARD. I am busy;

  Leave me.

  JUL. [Aside] What an excellent shape hath that fellow!

  CARD. ’Tis thus. Antonio lurks here in Milan:

  Inquire him out, and kill him. While he lives,

  Our sister cannot marry; and I have thought

  Of an excellent match for her. Do this, and style me

  Thy advancement.

  BOS. But by what means shall I find him out?

  CARD. There is a gentleman called Delio

  Here in the camp, that hath been long approved

  His loyal friend. Set eye upon that fellow;

  Follow him to mass; maybe Antonio,

  Although he do account religion

  But a school-name, for fashion of the world

  May accompany him; or else go inquire out

  Delio’s confessor, and see if you can bribe

  Him to reveal it. There are a thousand ways

  A man might find to trace him; as to know

  What fellows haunt the Jews for taking up

  Great sums of money, for sure he’s in want;

  Or else to go to th’ picture-makers, and learn

  Who bought her picture lately: some of these

  Happily may take.

  BOS. Well, I’ll not freeze i’ th’ business:

  I would see that wretched thing, Antonio,

  Above all sights i’ th’ world.

  CARD. Do, and be happy.

  Exit

  BOS. This fellow doth breed basilisks in ’s eyes,

  He’s nothing else but murder; yet he seems

  Not to have notice of the duchess’ death.

  ’Tis his cunning: I must follow his example;

  There cannot be a surer way to trace

  Than that of an old fox.

  Re-enter Julia, with a pistol

  JUL. So, sir, you are well met.

  BOS. How now?

  JUL. Nay, the doors are fast enough: Now, sir,

  I will make you confess your treachery.

  BOS. Treachery?

  JUL. Yes,

  Confess to me which of my women ’twas

  You hired to put love-powder into my drink?

  BOS. Love-powder?

  JUL. Yes, when I was at Malfi.

  Why should I fall in love with such a face else?

  I have already suffered for thee so much pain,

  The only remedy to do me good

  Is to kill my longing.

  BOS. Sure, your pistol holds

  Nothing but perfumes or kissing-comfits.104

  Excellent lady! You have a pretty way on’t

  To discover your longing. Come, come, I’ll disarm you,

  And arm you thus: yet this is wondrous strange.

  JUL. Compare thy form and my eyes together, you’ll find

  My love no such great miracle. Now you’ll say

  I am wanton: this nice modesty in ladies

  Is but a troublesome familiar that haunts them.

  BOS. Know you me, I am a blunt soldier.

  JUL. The better:

  Sure, there wants fire where there are no lively sparks

  Of roughness.

  BOS. And I want compliment.105

  JUL. Why, ignorance

  In courtship cannot make you do amiss,

  If you have a heart to do well.

  BOS. You are very fair.

  JUL. Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge,

  I must plead unguilty.

  BOS. Your bright eyes carry

  A quiver of darts in them sharper than sunbeams.

  JUL. You will mar me with commendation,

  Put yourself to the charge of courting me,

  Whereas now I woo you.

  BOS. [Aside] I have it, I will work upon this creature.—

  Let us grow most amorously familiar:

  If the great Cardinal now should see me thus,

  Would he not count me a villain?

  JUL. No; he might

  Count me a wanton, not lay a scruple

  Of offence on you; for if I see and steal

  A diamond, the fault is not i’ th’ stone,

  But in me the thief that purloins it. I am sudden

  With you: we that are great women of pleasure

  Use to cut off these uncertain wishes

  And unquiet longings, and in an instant join

  The sweet delight and the pretty excuse together.

  Had you been i’ th’ street, under my chamber-window,

  Even there I should have courted you.

  BOS. Oh, you are

  An excellent lady!

  JUL. Bid me do somewhat for you

  Presently to express I love you.

  BOS. I will;

  And if you love me, fail not to effect it.

  The Cardinal is grown wondrous melancholy;

  Demand the cause, let him not put you off

  With feigned excuse; discover the main ground on’t.

  JUL. Why would you know this?

  BOS. I have depended on him,

  And I hear that he is fallen in some disgrace

  With the emperor: if he be, like the mice

  That forsake falling houses, I would shift

  To other dependence.

  JUL. You shall not need

  Follow the wars: I’ll be your maintenance.

  BOS. And I your loyal servant: but I cannot

  Leave my calling.

  JUL. Not leave an ungrateful

  General for the love of a sweet lady?

  You are like some cannot sleep in feather-beds,

 
But must have blocks for their pillows.

  BOS. Will you do this?

  JUL. Cunningly.

  BOS. To-morrow I’ll expect th’ intelligence.

  JUL. To-morrow? get you into my cabinet;

  You shall have it with you. Do not delay me,

  No more than I do you: I am like one

  That is condemned; I have my pardon promised,

  But I would see it sealed. Go, get you in:

  You shall see me wind my tongue about his heart

  Like a skein of silk.

  Exit Bosola

  Re-enter Cardinal

  CARD. Where are you?

  Enter Servants

  SERVANTS. Here.

  CARD. Let none, upon your lives, have conference

  With the Prince Ferdinand, unless I know it.—

  [Aside] In this distraction he may reveal

  The murder.

  Exeunt Servants

  Yond’s my lingering consumption:

  I am weary of her, and by any means

  Would be quit of.

  JUL. How now, my lord? what ails you?

  CARD. Nothing.

  JUL. Oh, you are much altered: come, I must be

  Your secretary,106 and remove this lead

  From off your bosom: what’s the matter?

  CORD. I may not

  Tell you.

  JUL. Are you so far in love with sorrow

  You cannot part with part of it? or think you

  I cannot love your grace when you are sad

  As well as merry? or do you suspect

  I, that have been a secret to your heart

  These many winters, cannot be the same

  Unto your tongue?

  CARD. Satisfy thy longing,—

  The only way to make thee keep my counsel

  Is, not to tell thee.

  JUL. Tell your echo this,

  Or flatterers, that like echoes still report

  What they hear though most imperfect, and not me;

  For if that you be true unto yourself,

  I’ll know.

  CARD. Will you rack me?

  JUL. NO, judgment shall

  Draw it from you: it is an equal fault,

  To tell one’s secrets unto all or none.

  CARD. The first argues folly.

  JUL. But the last tyranny.

  CARD. Very well: why, imagine I have committed

  Some secret deed which I desire the world

  May never hear of.

  JUL. Therefore may not I know it?

  You have concealed for me as great a sin

  As adultery. Sir, never was occasion

  For perfect trial of my constancy

  Till now: sir, I beseech you—

  CARD. You’ll repent it.

  JUL. Never.

  CARD. It hurries thee to ruin: I’ll not tell thee.

  Be well advised, and think what danger ’tis

  To receive a prince’s secrets: they that do,

  Had need have their breasts hooped with adamant

  To contain them. I pray thee, yet be satisfied;

  Examine thine own frailty; ’tis more easy

  To tie knots than unloose them: ’tis a secret

  That, like a lingering poison, may chance lie

  Spread in thy veins, and kill thee seven year hence.

  JUL. Now you dally with me.

  CARD. NO more; thou shalt know it.

  By my appointment the great Duchess of Malfi

  And two of her young children, four nights since,

  Were strangled.

  JUL. O Heaven! sir, what have you done!

  CARD. How now? how settles this? think you your bosom

  Will be a grave dark and obscure enough

  For such a secret?

  JUL. You have undone yourself, sir.

  CARD. Why?

  JUL. It lies not in me to conceal it.

  CARD. No?

  Come, I will swear you to’t upon this book.

  JUL. Most religiously.

  CARD. Kiss it.

  [She kisses the book]

  Now you shall

  Never utter it; thy curiosity

  Hath undone thee: thou’rt poisoned with that book;

  Because I knew thou couldst not keep my counsel,

  I have bound thee to’t by death.

  Re-enter Bosola

  BOS. For pity sake,

  Hold!

  CARD. Ha! Bosola?

  JUL. I forgive you

  This equal piece of justice you have done;

  For I betrayed your counsel to that fellow:

  He overheard it; that was the cause I said

  It lay not in me to conceal it.

  BOS. O foolish woman,

  Couldst not thou have poisoned him?

  JUL. ’Tis weakness,

  Too much to think what should have been done. I go,

  I know not whither.

  Dies

  CARD. Wherefore com’st thou hither?

  BOS. That I might find a great man like yourself,

  Not out of his wits as the Lord Ferdinand,

  To remember my service.

  CARD. I’ll have thee hewed in pieces.

  BOS. Make not yourself such a promise of that life

  Which is not yours to dispose of.

  CARD. Who placed thee here?

  BOS. Her lust, as she intended.

  CARD. Very well:

  Now you know me for your fellow-murderer.

  BOS. And wherefore should you lay fair marble colors

  Upon your rotten purposes to me?

  Unless you imitate some that do plot great treasons,

  And when they have done, go bide themselves i’ th’ graves

  Of those were actors in’t?

  CARD. No more; there is

  A fortune attends thee.

  BOS. Shall I go sue

  To Fortune any longer? ’Tis the fool’s

  Pilgrimage.

  CARD. I have honors in store for thee.

  BOS. There are a many ways that conduct to seeming

  Honor, and some of them very dirty ones.

  CARD. Throw

  To the devil thy melancholy. The fire burns well:

  What need we keep a stirring of’t, and make

  A greater smother? Thou wilt kill Antonio?

  BOS. Yes.

  CARD. Take up that body.

  BOS. I think I shall

  Shortly grow the common bearer for churchyards.

  CARD. I will allow thee some dozen of attendants

  To aid thee in the murder.

  BOS. Oh, by no means. Physicians that apply horseleeches to any rank swelling use to cut off their tails, that the blood may run through them the faster: let me have no train107 when I go to shed blood, lest it make me have a greater when I ride to the gallows.

  CARD. Come to me after midnight, to help to remove

  That body to her own lodging: I’ll give out

  She died o’ th’ plague; ’twill breed the less inquiry

  After her death.

  BOS. Where’s Castruchio her husband?

  CARD. He’s rode to Naples, to take possession

  Of Antonio’s citadel.

  BOS. Believe me, you have done

  A very happy turn.

  CARD. Fail not to come:

  There is the master-key of our lodgings; and by that

  You may conceive what trust I plant in you.

  BOS. You shall find me ready.

  Exit Cardinal

  O poor Antonio,

  Though nothing be so needful to thy estate

  As pity, yet I find nothing so dangerous;

  I must look to my footing:

  In such slippery ice-pavements men had need

  To be frost-nailed well, they may break their necks else;

  The precedent’s here afore me. How this man

  Bears up in blood! seems fearless! Why, ’tis well:

  Security some men call t
he suburbs of hell,

  Only a dead wall between. Well, good Antonio,

  I’ll seek thee out; and all my care shall be

  To put thee into safety from the reach

  Of these most cruel biters that have got

  Some of thy blood already. It may be,

  I’ll join with thee in a most just revenge:

  The weakest arm is strong enough that strikes

  With the sword of justice. Still methinks the duchess

  Haunts me.—There, there, ’tis nothing but my melancholy.

  O Penitence, let me truly taste thy cup,

  That throws men down only to raise them up!

  Exit

  SCENE III

  Enter Antonio and Delio

  DEL. Yond’s the Cardinal’s window. This fortification

  Grew from the ruins of an ancient abbey;

  And to yond side o’ th’ river lies a wall,

  Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion

  Gives the best echo that you ever heard,

  So hollow and so dismal, and withal

  So plain in the distinction of our words,

  That many have supposed it is a spirit

  That answers.

  ANT. I do love these ancient ruins.

  We never tread upon them but we set

  Our foot upon some reverend history:

  And, questionless, here in this open court,

  Which now lies naked to the injuries

  Of stormy weather, some men lie interred

  Loved the church so well, and gave so largely to’t,

  They thought it should have canopied their bones

  Till doomsday; but all things have their end:

  Churches and cities, which have diseases

  Like to men, must have like death that we have.

  ECHO. “Like death that we have.”

  DEL. Now the echo hath caught you.

  ANT. It groaned, methought, and gave

  A very deadly accent.

  ECHO. “Deadly accent.”

  DEL. I told you ’twas a pretty one: you may make it

  A huntsman, or a falconer, a musician,

  Or a thing of sorrow.

  ECHO. “A thing of sorrow.”

  ANT. Aye, sure, that suits it best.

  ECHO. “That suits it best.”

  ANT. ’Tis very like my wife’s voice.

  ECHO. “Aye, wife’s voice.”

  DEL. Come, let’s walk further from’t. I would not have you

  Go to th’ Cardinal’s to-night: do not.

  ECHO. “Do not.”

  DEL. Wisdom doth not more moderate wasting sorrow

  Than time: take time for’t; be mindful of thy safety.

  ECHO. “Be mindful of thy safety.”

  ANT. Necessity compels me:

  Make scrutiny throughout the passes of

  Your own life, you’ll find it impossible

  To fly your fate.

  ECHO. “Oh, fly your fate.”

  DEL. Hark!

  The dead stones seem to have pity on you, and give you

  Good counsel.