'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
