Complete Plays. Оскар Уайльд

Why are you here,

       If not to kill him, then?

      GUIDO

       Lord Moranzone,

       I purpose to ascend to the Duke’s chamber,

       And as he lies asleep lay on his breast

       The dagger and this writing; when he awakes

       Then he will know who held him in his power

       And slew him not: this is the noblest vengeance

       Which I can take.

      MORANZONE

       You will not slay him?

      GUIDO

       No.

      MORANZONE

       Ignoble son of a noble father,

       Who sufferest this man who sold that father

       To live an hour.

      GUIDO

       ‘Twas thou that hindered me;

       I would have killed him in the open square,

       The day I saw him first.

      MORANZONE

       It was not yet time;

       Now it is time, and, like some green-faced girl,

       Thou pratest of forgiveness.

      GUIDO

       No! revenge:

       The right revenge my father’s son should take.

      MORANZONE

       You are a coward,

       Take out the knife, get to the Duke’s chamber,

       And bring me back his heart upon the blade.

       When he is dead, then you can talk to me

       Of noble vengeances.

      GUIDO

       Upon thine honour,

       And by the love thou bearest my father’s name,

       Dost thou think my father, that great gentleman,

       That generous soldier, that most chivalrous lord,

       Would have crept at night-time, like a common thief,

       And stabbed an old man sleeping in his bed,

       However he had wronged him: tell me that.

      MORANZONE

       [after some hesitation]

       You have sworn an oath, see that you keep that oath.

       Boy, do you think I do not know your secret,

       Your traffic with the Duchess?

      GUIDO

       Silence, liar!

       The very moon in heaven is not more chaste.

       Nor the white stars so pure.

      MORANZONE

       And yet, you love her;

       Weak fool, to let love in upon your life,

       Save as a plaything.

      GUIDO

       You do well to talk:

       Within your veins, old man, the pulse of youth

       Throbs with no ardour. Your eyes full of rheum

       Have against Beauty closed their filmy doors,

       And your clogged ears, losing their natural sense,

       Have shut you from the music of the world.

       You talk of love! You know not what it is.

      MORANZONE

       Oh, in my time, boy, have I walked i’ the moon,

       Swore I would live on kisses and on blisses,

       Swore I would die for love, and did not die,

       Wrote love bad verses; ay, and sung them badly,

       Like all true lovers: Oh, I have done the tricks!

       I know the partings and the chamberings;

       We are all animals at best, and love

       Is merely passion with a holy name.

      GUIDO

       Now then I know you have not loved at all.

       Love is the sacrament of life; it sets

       Virtue where virtue was not; cleanses men

       Of all the vile pollutions of this world;

       It is the fire which purges gold from dross,

       It is the fan which winnows wheat from chaff,

       It is the spring which in some wintry soil

       Makes innocence to blossom like a rose.

       The days are over when God walked with men,

       But Love, which is his image, holds his place.

       When a man loves a woman, then he knows

       God’s secret, and the secret of the world.

       There is no house so lowly or so mean,

       Which, if their hearts be pure who live in it,

       Love will not enter; but if bloody murder

       Knock at the Palace gate and is let in,

       Love like a wounded thing creeps out and dies.

       This is the punishment God sets on sin.

       The wicked cannot love.

       [A groan comes from the DUKE’s chamber.]

       Ah! What is that?

       Do you not hear? ‘Twas nothing.

       So I think

       That it is woman’s mission by their love

       To save the souls of men: and loving her,

       My Lady, my white Beatrice, I begin

       To see a nobler and a holier vengeance

       In letting this man live, than doth reside

       In bloody deeds o’ night, stabs in the dark,

       And young hands clutching at a palsied throat.

       It was, I think, for love’s sake that Lord Christ,

       Who was indeed himself incarnate Love,

       Bade every man forgive his enemy.

      MORANZONE

       [sneeringly]

       That was in Palestine, not Padua;

       And said for saints: I have to do with men.

      GUIDO

       It was for all time said.

      MORANZONE

       And your white Duchess,

       What will she do to thank you?

      GUIDO

       Alas, I will not see her face again.

       ‘Tis but twelve hours since I parted from her,

       So suddenly, and with such violent passion,

       That she has shut her heart against me now:

       No, I will never see her.

      MORANZONE

       What will you do?

      GUIDO

       After that I have laid the dagger there,

       Get hence tonight from Padua.

      MORANZONE

       And then?

      GUIDO

       I will take service with the Doge at Venice,

       And bid him pack me straightway to the wars,