Oscar Wilde: The Duchess of Padua

Saw you my father afterwards?

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

O generous heart!

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.

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

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

The traitor’s name?

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

What of that? his name?

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

His name, milord?

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

The Duke!

Leave off that fingering of thy knife.
Hast thou so soon forgotten? [ Kneels to the Duke.]
My noble Lord.

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.

Who is that?

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

What is his name?

Guido Ferranti, sir.

His city?

He is Mantuan by birth.

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.

Here is some bitter arrow for us, sure.

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

There it comes indeed.

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.

He has enough of hate, if he needs that.

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

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

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.

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

Dost thou mark his words?

Oh, be thou sure I do.

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.

Your Grace, I shall remember.

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?

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

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

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

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

I thank your Grace most heartily.

Tell me again
What is your name?

Guido Ferranti, sir.

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.

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

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?

My liege, there are some matters —

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

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