The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde: 150+ Titles in One Edition. Oscar Wilde. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Oscar Wilde
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alone;

       ‘Tis many a dusty league to your grey France,

       And even there your father barely keeps

       A hundred ragged squires for his Court.

       What hope have you, I say? Which of these lords

       And noble gentlemen of Padua

       Stands by your side.

      DUCHESS

      There is not one.

      [GUIDO starts, but restrains himself.]

      DUKE

      Nor shall be,

       While I am Duke in Padua: listen, Madam,

       Being mine own, you shall do as I will,

       And if it be my will you keep the house,

       Why then, this palace shall your prison be;

       And if it be my will you walk abroad,

       Why, you shall take the air from morn to night.

      DUCHESS

      Sir, by what right -?

      DUKE

      Madam, my second Duchess

       Asked the same question once: her monument

       Lies in the chapel of Bartholomew,

       Wrought in red marble; very beautiful.

       Guido, your arm. Come, gentlemen, let us go

       And spur our falcons for the mid-day chase.

       Bethink you, Madam, you are here alone.

       [Exit the DUKE leaning on GUIDO, with his Court.]

      DUCHESS

      [looking after them]

       The Duke said rightly that I was alone;

       Deserted, and dishonoured, and defamed,

       Stood ever woman so alone indeed?

       Men when they woo us call us pretty children,

       Tell us we have not wit to make our lives,

       And so they mar them for us. Did I say woo?

       We are their chattels, and their common slaves,

       Less dear than the poor hound that licks their hand,

       Less fondled than the hawk upon their wrist.

       Woo, did I say? bought rather, sold and bartered,

       Our very bodies being merchandise.

       I know it is the general lot of women,

       Each miserably mated to some man

       Wrecks her own life upon his selfishness:

       That it is general makes it not less bitter.

       I think I never heard a woman laugh,

       Laugh for pure merriment, except one woman,

       That was at night time, in the public streets.

       Poor soul, she walked with painted lips, and wore

       The mask of pleasure: I would not laugh like her;

       No, death were better.

       [Enter GUIDO behind unobserved; the DUCHESS flings herself down before a picture of the Madonna.]

       O Mary mother, with your sweet pale face

       Bending between the little angel heads

       That hover round you, have you no help for me?

       Mother of God, have you no help for me?

      GUIDO

      I can endure no longer.

       This is my love, and I will speak to her.

       Lady, am I a stranger to your prayers?

      DUCHESS

      [rising]

       None but the wretched needs my prayers, my lord.

      GUIDO

      Then must I need them, lady.

      DUCHESS

      How is that?

       Does not the Duke show thee sufficient honour?

      GUIDO

      Your Grace, I lack no favours from the Duke,

       Whom my soul loathes as I loathe wickedness,

       But come to proffer on my bended knees,

       My loyal service to thee unto death.

      DUCHESS

      Alas! I am so fallen in estate

       I can but give thee a poor meed of thanks.

      GUIDO

      [seizing her hand]

       Hast thou no love to give me?

       [The DUCHESS starts, and GUIDO falls at her feet.]

       O dear saint,

       If I have been too daring, pardon me!

       Thy beauty sets my boyish blood aflame,

       And, when my reverent lips touch thy white hand,

       Each little nerve with such wild passion thrills

       That there is nothing which I would not do

       To gain thy love. [Leaps up.]

       Bid me reach forth and pluck

       Perilous honour from the lion’s jaws,

       And I will wrestle with the Nemean beast

       On the bare desert! Fling to the cave of War

       A gaud, a ribbon, a dead flower, something

       That once has touched thee, and I’ll bring it back

       Though all the hosts of Christendom were there,

       Inviolate again! ay, more than this,

       Set me to scale the pallid white-faced cliffs

       Of mighty England, and from that arrogant shield

       Will I raze out the lilies of your France

       Which England, that sealion of the sea,

       Hath taken from her!

       O dear Beatrice,

       Drive me not from thy presence! without thee

       The heavy minutes crawl with feet of lead,

       But, while I look upon thy loveliness,

       The hours fly like winged Mercuries

       And leave existence golden.

      DUCHESS

      I did not think

       I should be ever loved: do you indeed

       Love me so much as now you say you do?

      GUIDO

      Ask of the sea-bird if it loves the sea,

       Ask of the roses if they love the rain,

       Ask of the little lark, that will not sing

       Till day break, if it loves to see the day:-

       And yet, these are but empty images,

       Mere shadows of my love, which is a fire

       So great that all the waters of the main

       Can not avail to quench it. Will you not speak?

      DUCHESS

      I hardly know what I should say to you.

      GUIDO

      Will you not say you love