Oscar Wilde: The Complete Works. Knowledge house
scorn, and open contumely, but he
Who filches from me something that is mine,
Ay! though it be the meanest trencher-plate
From which I feed mine appetite—oh! he
Perils his soul and body in the theft
·175· And dies for his small sin. From what strange clay
We men are moulded!
guido
Why do you speak like this?
simone
I wonder, my Lord Guido, if my sword
Is better tempered than this steel of yours?
Shall we make trial? Or is my state too low
For you to cross your rapier against mine,
In jest, or earnest?
guido
Naught would please me better
Than to stand fronting you with naked blade
In jest, or earnest. Give me mine own sword.
Fetch yours. To-night will settle the great issue
Whether the Prince’s or the merchant’s steel
Is better tempered. Was not that your word?
Fetch your own sword. Why do you tarry, sir?
·176· simone
My lord, of all the gracious courtesies
That you have showered on my barren house
This is the highest.
Bianca, fetch my sword.
Thrust back that stool and table. We must have
An open circle for our match at arms,
And good Bianca here shall hold the torch
Lest what is but a jest grow serious.
bianca
[to Guido]. Oh! kill him, kill him!
simone
Hold the torch, Bianca. [They begin to fight.]
simone
Have at you! Ah! Ha! would you?
[He is wounded by Guido.]
A scratch, no more. The torch was in mine eyes.
Do not look sad, Bianca. It is nothing.
Your husband bleeds, ’tis nothing. Take a cloth,
·177· Bind it about mine arm. Nay, not so tight.
More softly, my good wife. And be not sad,
I pray you be not sad. No; take it off.
What matter if I bleed? [Tears bandage off.]
Again! again!
[Simone disarms Guido]
My gentle Lord, you see that I was right
My sword is better tempered, finer steel,
But let us match our daggers.
bianca
[to Guido] Kill him! kill him!
simone
Put out the torch, Bianca. [Bianca puts out torch.]
Now, my good Lord,
Now to the death of one, or both of us,
Or all three it may be. [They fight.]
There and there.
Ah, devil! do I hold thee in my grip?
[Simone overpowers Guido and throws him down over table.]
·178· guido
Fool! take your strangling fingers from my throat.
I am my father’s only son; the State
Has but one heir, and that false enemy France
Waits for the ending of my father’s line
To fall upon our city.
simone
Hush! your father
When he is childless will be happier.
As for the State, I think our state of Florence
Needs no adulterous pilot at its helm.
Your life would soil its lilies.
guido
Take off your hands
Take off your damnèd hands. Loose me, I say!
simone
Nay, you are caught in such a cunning vice
That nothing will avail you, and your life
Narrowed into a single point of shame
Ends with that shame and ends most shamefully.
·179· guido
Oh! let me have a priest before I die!
simone
What wouldst thou have a priest for? Tell thy sins
To God, whom thou shalt see this very night
And then no more for ever. Tell thy sins
To Him who is most just, being pitiless,
Most pitiful being just. As for myself …
guido
Oh! help me, sweet Bianca! help me, Bianca,
Thou knowest I am innocent of harm.
simone
What, is there life yet in those lying lips?
Die like a dog with lolling tongue! Die! Die!
And the dumb river shall receive your corse
And wash it all unheeded to the sea.
guido
Lord Christ receive my wretched soul to-night!
·180· simone
Amen to that. Now for the other.
[He dies. Simone rises and looks at Bianca. She comes towards him as one dazed with wonder and with outstretched arms.]
bianca
Why
Did you not tell me you were so strong?
simone
Why
Did you not tell me you were beautiful?
[He kisses her on the mouth.]
Curtain
The Picture
of
Dorian Gray.
by
Oscar Wilde
Lippincott’s Monthly Magazine,
London: Ward, Lock & Co., Salisbury Square, E.C.
Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company.
July 1890
[The text follows the
magazine release.]
contents.