feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/gradesaver/The White Devil/section_1_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: The White Devil.act 2.scene 1-scene 2
feat_summary_id: act 2
feat_summary: {"name": "Act 2", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20180409073731/http://www.gradesaver.com/the-white-devil/study-guide/summary-act-2", "summary": "Act 2 opens in the home of Francisco de Medici, who is the Duke of Florence and Isabella's brother. On stage are Francisco, Isabella, Cardinal Monticelso, Marcello, Giovanni, and little Jacques the Moor. Francisco asks Isabella, who has just returned to Rome, whether she has yet seen her husband, the Duke of Brachiano. When she says she has not, Francisco jokes that Camillo should burn his house down to destroy the lecherous hangers-on that surround it. It is unclear whether he means to implicate Brachiano as one of those hangers-on. Giovanni, Isabella and Brachiano's son, reminds his uncle Francisco that he promised him a horse, and Francisco repeats his promise. Marcello, Vittoria's brother and Francisco's attendant, announces that Brachiano has arrived. Isabella pleads for her brother to be kind to her husband, and then exits, after which Francisco orders Marcello, Flamineo, Giovanni, and his servant Jacques the Moor to follow. When Brachiano enters, Francisco asks Cardinal Monticelso to speak for him, and Monticelso chastises Brachiano for neglecting his throne for an illicit affair. He explains that such behavior tarnishes his public reputation, and then vaguely threatens Brachiano. Francisco then joins the lecture, calling Vittoria Brachiano's prostitute, and threatening war if his brother-in-law does not remedy the situation. Brachiano grows contemptuously assertive, warning Francisco that he would win any such battle. Francisco then insists Brachiano will soon realize that Vittoria is a prostitute when his hair falls out from venereal disease. At that moment, Giovanni enters, dressed in a suit of armor. Monticelso further suggests to Brachiano that the boy needs a virtuous role model in his father. Giovanni asks for a pike, and explains to them that if he were the leader of an army, he would put himself on the front lines to set an example for his men. Faced with the boy's earnestness, Brachiano and Francisco appear to reconcile. Isabella enters again, and Francisco, Monticelso, and Giovanni exit. Brachiano remarks on Isabella's good health, and asks what brought her to Rome so hurriedly. Isabella explains that she returned from devotion, which Brachiano interprets as religious devotion, but which Isabella means as marital fidelity. She suggests that they must pray for the forgiveness of Brachiano's sins, which angers him. He tells her to go to her room, but she begs him for a kiss. He accuses her of being jealous, which she denies. When he draws near to her mouth for a kiss, he recoils from her bad breath. He accuses her of forming conspiracies against him with her family, and of having had an affair with a young man in Rome. Against Isabella's protestations of love, Brachiano insults Francisco as a fat fool, and he curses their marriage and their son. In a parody of traditional marriage vows, he divorces Isabella on the grounds of her supposed infidelity. Isabella warns that she will die and soon ascend to heaven without him, but she also offers to take public responsibility for the divorce on the grounds of his actual infidelity and of her jealousy, which would make him look slightly better to society. Francisco, Flamineo, Marcello, and Monticelso re-enter the room, where Isabella is now playing out the divorce. To the men, Isabella appears jealous and vengeful, threatening Vittoria and calling her a a whore. She repeats Brachiano's divorce vows as Francisco looks on increduously. Seeing Isabella as a jealous woman, Francisco tells her that she deserves her cuckold's horns, and Isabella threatens to leave immediately for Padua. Francisco protests, but Brachiano encourages the plan. To herself, Isabella mourns the loss of her marriage and her breaking heart. Camillo enters, and while Francisco is distracted by business, Flamineo plots secretly with Brachiano to kill Camillo and Isabella. Flamineo introduces Brachiano to Doctor Julio, a quack doctor and criminal who will gladly help poison Isabella in Padua. Further, they can arrange for Camillo to die that night of an apparent accident. Pleased with their plans, the three men exit. Monticelso explains to Camillo how an emblem, or allegorical drawing, has been thrown at him. The picture is of a horn-less stag weeping, with the saying that \"plenty of horns hath made him poor of horns.\" Monticelso interprets the picture as proof that Camillo has been cuckolded, and Francisco then tells him the story of Phoebus, the sun god's, marriage. When Phoebus was to be married, all the humans begged the other gods to castrate Phoebus, explaining that one sun already caused too much heat. If Phoebus were to have children, life would become unbearable. Francisco warns Camillo that if Vittoria reproduces, all of humankind will suffer from her progeny, and advises him to leave to go fight the pirates who currently plague Rome. Camillo worries that his absence may only inflame the adultery, but Monticelso promises to watch Vittoria in his absence. Camillo and Marcello then leave, at which point Francisco and Monticelso admit that they send him away in order to test Brachiano. Monticelso reveals that Lodovico, the rumored pirate, is actually in Padua, and wants to plead with Isabella to help him overturn his banishment. He explains that although it may seem dishonorable to deceive his nephew Camillo, he would rather hurt Camillo in order to avenge him, than let the wrongs against Camillo go unavenged. Scene 2 Brachiano and a Conjurer enter in the dead of night. Brachiano begs the Conjurer to reveal how his murder plans are unfolding, and the Conjurer insists that he usually avoids dark deeds, as he hates being called a \"nigromancer.\" However, because Brachiano has paid him, he will fulfill the request. A dumb show - action performed in pantomime - is enacted on one side of the stage. Brachiano watches as Doctor Julio and Christophero creep suspiciously into Isabella's bedroom. They pull aside a curtain to reveal a portrait of Brachiano. They put on protective glasses and cover the portrait's lips with poison, and then leave, laughing. Isabella then enters the room, followed by Lodovico, Giovanni, Guid-Antonio, and unnamed others. She prays before the painting, and then kisses it three times. Almost immediately, she faints and dies. Brachiano is pleased with the vision the Conjurer has shown him, and the Conjurer explains that Doctor Julio concocted that plan after noticing Isabella's habit of kissing the painting. When Brachiano asks why Lodovico was there, the Conjurer explains how Lodovico passionately dotes on Isabella. The Conjurer then conjures up the second dumb show, this time on the other side of the stage. Flamineo, Marcello, Camillo, and several unnamed captains enter, and carouse a while before someone fetches a vaulting-horse. Marcello leaves the room, while Flamineo and Camillo strip their clothes off in order to vault. Camillo is about to vault when Flamineo breaks his neck and then arranges the body to suggest Camillo died while vaulting. Flamineo calls for help, and Marcello rushes in with Francisco and Monticelso. The Duke and the Cardinal apprehend Flamineo and Marcello, and then leave, seemingly to also apprehend Vittoria. Brachiano thanks and pays the Conjurer for showing him the murders, and the latter cryptically warns that \"great men do great good, or else great harm.\"", "analysis": "In this Act does the meaning behind the play's title become more apparent. In the first scene of Act II, Jaques the Moor, who would have been a black African, stands silent as a visual shadow of the great white men present, including Francisco and Monticelso. The title of the play suggests the importance of color in determining guilt. White, usually associated with innocence and virtue, instead aligns itself with vice and sin. In Jacques's presence, we see a visual reminder of the darkness lurking behind the \"white\" facades of such great men as Francisco and Monticelso. Although these men are ostensibly on the side of the law, their private actions suggest that each of them may be as much of a villain as Lodovico or Flamineo. It is in keeping with the play's many ironies that the traditionally pure \"white\" should hide darkness and sin. Francisco's power is extremely apparent. The stage is crowded at the Act's opening, but Francisco clears it with a simple order. This is a startling visual display of his power, as well as an echo of Act 1, Scene 1. Similar to that earlier scene, this one features two men chastising a third for his immoral actions. Francisco criticizes his brother-in-law Brachiano, and uses the threat of war as a tactic. Their overly aggressive, masculine displays are ceded by the arrival of Giovani, who implicitly shames them by suggesting the chivalric masculine behavior of protecting his men as a hypothetical army captain. Giovanni is a visual representation of what Brachiano should be striving for - the chivalric values of virtue and courtly love. Like each Act of the play, Act II features several scenes of irony. One of the most notable is the divorce scene, which parodies a marriage ceremony even as it dissolves a union. Isabella is the wronged person, yet she offers to play the martyr. She is the only one with an actual cause, and yet offers to facilitate a divorce she could oppose. All of her virtue ironically pleads Brachiano's case to the audience, however; her excessive sanctimony helps us understand why her husband would prefer a sensual lover to his prim, overly-religious wife. The irony is compounded as soon as Monticelso and Francisco re-enter, and Isabella acts like a jealous shrew for the sake of her husband's happiness. The misogyny of this world is also apparent in this scene, as Francisco calls his sister a \"foolish, mad, and jealous woman\" for her displays. A woman's jealousy is enough cause for a man to request divorce, though a woman's knowledge of a man's infidelity would not necessarily prove just cause. Isabella is limited in her agency, and is only able to reach a desired end through manipulation, creating a scene that is not as it seems. The play's pessimistic view of humanity is quite apparent after Isabella leaves, and Camillo and Julio enter. The six men on stage divide into two groups of three, establishing a \"split-stage\" that highlights parallels and contrasts between the two groups. In each case, two characters concoct a plot that is to be enacted by the third. Flamineo and Brachiano plot to kill both Isabella and Camillo with the help of the mysterious Doctor Julio, while Monticelso and Francisco manipulate Camillo into leaving, so that they may observe Brachiano's behavior. While Monticelso and Francisco are ostensibly working on the side of virtue and the law, they employ treachery just as deviously as Brachiano and Flamineo. Ironically, their pursuit of virtue reveals their moral limitations. Monticelso addresses this contradiction, by suggesting that revenge is most important - he would rather gamble with Camillo's life by sending him out to sea than let his nephew be made a fool of. Yet again, reputation trumps most other qualities, and the pursuit of it causes all characters to reveal their vice. Webster's plays reveal their innate theatricality in performance, and the dumbshows created by the Conjurer are quite delightful to see. However, they also possess much literary value. Isabella's death is a foreshadowing of Brachiano's own, which occurs through a poisoned mouthpiece, as well as a reference to how Brachiano divorced her with a kiss. Camillo's death conforms somewhat to the historical record, in which Francesco Peretti, his historical counterpart, was murdered at Monte Cavallo, literally \"horse mount.\" The activity also serves as a sexual pun, however, since vaulting can imply sexually mounting, and Camillo's placement underneath the vault highlights his sexual impotency. Finally, the Conjurer's assessment at the end of the Act provides insight into Webster's sense of humanity. By noting that great men do either great or terrible things, he indicates that people are rarely pure in their virtue or vice, but rather easily led to devote their potential to either or both. The \"great\" man might do the worst things, and cannot be understood simply by his outward appearance. Likewise, sometimes the man who does \"harm\" is in fact \"great.\" What we are capable of is not always apparent, in the same way that morality is not always contained in white."}
text: ACT II SCENE I
  
  
  Enter Francisco de Medicis, Cardinal Monticelso, Marcello, Isabella,
    young Giovanni, with little Jacques the Moor
  
  
  Fran.   Have you not seen your husband since you arrived?
  
  
  Isab.   Not yet, sir.
  
  
  Fran.   Surely he is wondrous kind;
    If I had such a dove-house as Camillo's,
    I would set fire on 't were 't but to destroy
    The polecats that haunt to it--My sweet cousin!
  
  
  Giov.   Lord uncle, you did promise me a horse,
    And armour.
  
  
  Fran.   That I did, my pretty cousin.
    Marcello, see it fitted.
  
  
  Marc.   My lord, the duke is here.
  
  
  Fran.   Sister, away; you must not yet be seen.
  
  
  Isab.   I do beseech you,
    Entreat him mildly, let not your rough tongue
    Set us at louder variance; all my wrongs
    Are freely pardon'd; and I do not doubt,
    As men to try the precious unicorn's horn
    Make of the powder a preservative circle,
    And in it put a spider, so these arms
    Shall charm his poison, force it to obeying,
    And keep him chaste from an infected straying.
  
  
  Fran.   I wish it may.  Begone.  [Exit Isabella as Brachiano and Flamineo
    enter.]  Void the chamber.
    You are welcome; will you sit?--I pray, my lord,
    Be you my orator, my heart 's too full;
    I 'll second you anon.
  
  
  Mont.   Ere I begin,
    Let me entreat your grace forgo all passion,
    Which may be raised by my free discourse.
  
  
  Brach.   As silent as i' th' church: you may proceed.
  
  
  Mont.   It is a wonder to your noble friends,
    That you, having as 'twere enter'd the world
    With a free scepter in your able hand,
    And having to th' use of nature well applied
    High gifts of learning, should in your prime age
    Neglect your awful throne for the soft down
    Of an insatiate bed.  O my lord,
    The drunkard after all his lavish cups
    Is dry, and then is sober; so at length,
    When you awake from this lascivious dream,
    Repentance then will follow, like the sting
    Plac'd in the adder's tail.  Wretched are princes
    When fortune blasteth but a petty flower
    Of their unwieldy crowns, or ravisheth
    But one pearl from their scepter; but alas!
    When they to wilful shipwreck lose good fame,
    All princely titles perish with their name.
  
  
  Brach.   You have said, my lord----
  
  
  Mont.   Enough to give you taste
    How far I am from flattering your greatness.
  
  
  Brach.   Now you that are his second, what say you?
    Do not like young hawks fetch a course about;
    Your game flies fair, and for you.
  
  
  Fran.   Do not fear it:
    I 'll answer you in your own hawking phrase.
    Some eagles that should gaze upon the sun
    Seldom soar high, but take their lustful ease,
    Since they from dunghill birds their prey can seize.
    You know Vittoria?
  
  
  Brach.   Yes.
  
  
  Fran.   You shift your shirt there,
    When you retire from tennis?
  
  
  Brach.   Happily.
  
  
  Fran.   Her husband is lord of a poor fortune,
    Yet she wears cloth of tissue.
  
  
  Brach.   What of this?
    Will you urge that, my good lord cardinal,
    As part of her confession at next shrift,
    And know from whence it sails?
  
  
  Fran.   She is your strumpet----
  
  
  Brach.   Uncivil sir, there 's hemlock in thy breath,
    And that black slander.  Were she a whore of mine,
    All thy loud cannons, and thy borrow'd Switzers,
    Thy galleys, nor thy sworn confederates,
    Durst not supplant her.
  
  
  Fran.   Let 's not talk on thunder.
    Thou hast a wife, our sister; would I had given
    Both her white hands to death, bound and lock'd fast
    In her last winding sheet, when I gave thee
    But one.
  
  
  Brach.  Thou hadst given a soul to God then.
  
  
  Fran.   True:
    Thy ghostly father, with all his absolution,
    Shall ne'er do so by thee.
  
  
  Brach.   Spit thy poison.
  
  
  Fran.   I shall not need; lust carries her sharp whip
    At her own girdle.  Look to 't, for our anger
    Is making thunderbolts.
  
  
  Brach.   Thunder! in faith,
    They are but crackers.
  
  
  Fran.   We 'll end this with the cannon.
  
  
  Brach.   Thou 'lt get naught by it, but iron in thy wounds,
    And gunpowder in thy nostrils.
  
  
  Fran.   Better that,
    Than change perfumes for plasters.
  
  
  Brach.   Pity on thee!
    'Twere good you 'd show your slaves or men condemn'd,
    Your new-plough'd forehead.  Defiance! and I 'll meet thee,
    Even in a thicket of thy ablest men.
  
  
  Mont.   My lords, you shall not word it any further
    Without a milder limit.
  
  
  Fran.   Willingly.
  
  
  Brach.   Have you proclaim'd a triumph, that you bait
    A lion thus?
  
  
  Mont.   My lord!
  
  
  Brach.   I am tame, I am tame, sir.
  
  
  Fran.   We send unto the duke for conference
    'Bout levies 'gainst the pirates; my lord duke
    Is not at home: we come ourself in person;
    Still my lord duke is busied.  But we fear
    When Tiber to each prowling passenger
    Discovers flocks of wild ducks, then, my lord--
    'Bout moulting time I mean--we shall be certain
    To find you sure enough, and speak with you.
  
  
  Brach.   Ha!
  
  
  Fran.   A mere tale of a tub: my words are idle.
    But to express the sonnet by natural reason,
                                                           [Enter Giovanni.
    When stags grow melancholic you 'll find the season.
  
  
  Mont.   No more, my lord; here comes a champion
    Shall end the difference between you both;
    Your son, the Prince Giovanni.  See, my lords,
    What hopes you store in him; this is a casket
    For both your crowns, and should be held like dear.
    Now is he apt for knowledge; therefore know
    It is a more direct and even way,
    To train to virtue those of princely blood,
    By examples than by precepts: if by examples,
    Whom should he rather strive to imitate
    Than his own father? be his pattern then,
    Leave him for a stock of virtue that may last,
    Should fortune rend his sails, and split his mast.
  
  
  Brach.   Your hand, boy: growing to a soldier?
  
  
  Giov.   Give me a pike.
  
  
  Fran.   What, practising your pike so young, fair cousin?
  
  
  Giov.   Suppose me one of Homer's frogs, my lord,
    Tossing my bulrush thus.  Pray, sir, tell me,
    Might not a child of good discretion
    Be leader to an army?
  
  
  Fran.   Yes, cousin, a young prince
    Of good discretion might.
  
  
  Giov.   Say you so?
    Indeed I have heard, 'tis fit a general
    Should not endanger his own person oft;
    So that he make a noise when he 's a-horseback,
    Like a Danske drummer,--Oh, 'tis excellent!--
    He need not fight! methinks his horse as well
    Might lead an army for him.  If I live,
    I 'll charge the French foe in the very front
    Of all my troops, the foremost man.
  
  
  Fran.   What! what!
  
  
  Giov.   And will not bid my soldiers up, and follow,
    But bid them follow me.
  
  
  Brach.   Forward lapwing!
    He flies with the shell on 's head.
  
  
  Fran.   Pretty cousin!
  
  
  Giov.   The first year, uncle, that I go to war,
    All prisoners that I take, I will set free,
    Without their ransom.
  
  
  Fran.   Ha! without their ransom!
    How then will you reward your soldiers,
    That took those prisoners for you?
  
  
  Giov.   Thus, my lord:
    I 'll marry them to all the wealthy widows
    That falls that year.
  
  
  Fran.   Why then, the next year following,
    You 'll have no men to go with you to war.
  
  
  Giov.   Why then I 'll press the women to the war,
    And then the men will follow.
  
  
  Mont.   Witty prince!
  
  
  Fran.   See, a good habit makes a child a man,
    Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast.
    Come, you and I are friends.
  
  
  Brach.   Most wishedly:
    Like bones which, broke in sunder, and well set,
    Knit the more strongly.
  
  
  Fran.   Call Camillo hither.--
    You have receiv'd the rumour, how Count Lodowick
    Is turn'd a pirate?
  
  
  Brach.   Yes.
  
  
  Fran.   We are now preparing to fetch him in.  Behold your duchess.
    We now will leave you, and expect from you
    Nothing but kind entreaty.
  
  
  Brach.   You have charm'd me.
                               [Exeunt Francisco, Monticelso, and Giovanni.
                                       Enter Isabella
    You are in health, we see.
  
  
  Isab.   And above health,
    To see my lord well.
  
  
  Brach.   So: I wonder much
    What amorous whirlwind hurried you to Rome.
  
  
  Isab.   Devotion, my lord.
  
  
  Brach.   Devotion!
    Is your soul charg'd with any grievous sin?
  
  
  Isab.   'Tis burden'd with too many; and I think
    The oftener that we cast our reckonings up,
    Our sleep will be the sounder.
  
  
  Brach.   Take your chamber.
  
  
  Isab.   Nay, my dear lord, I will not have you angry!
    Doth not my absence from you, now two months,
    Merit one kiss?
  
  
  Brach.  I do not use to kiss:
    If that will dispossess your jealousy,
    I 'll swear it to you.
  
  
  Isab.   O, my loved lord,
    I do not come to chide: my jealousy!
    I am to learn what that Italian means.
    You are as welcome to these longing arms,
    As I to you a virgin.
  
  
  Brach.   Oh, your breath!
    Out upon sweetmeats and continued physic,
    The plague is in them!
  
  
  Isab.   You have oft, for these two lips,
    Neglected cassia, or the natural sweets
    Of the spring-violet: they are not yet much wither'd.
    My lord, I should be merry: these your frowns
    Show in a helmet lovely; but on me,
    In such a peaceful interview, methinks
    They are too roughly knit.
  
  
  Brach.   O dissemblance!
    Do you bandy factions 'gainst me? have you learnt
    The trick of impudent baseness to complain
    Unto your kindred?
  
  
  Isab.   Never, my dear lord.
  
  
  Brach.   Must I be hunted out? or was 't your trick
    To meet some amorous gallant here in Rome,
    That must supply our discontinuance?
  
  
  Isab.   Pray, sir, burst my heart; and in my death
    Turn to your ancient pity, though not love.
  
  
  Brach.   Because your brother is the corpulent duke,
    That is, the great duke, 'sdeath, I shall not shortly
    Racket away five hundred crowns at tennis,
    But it shall rest 'pon record!  I scorn him
    Like a shav'd Polack: all his reverend wit
    Lies in his wardrobe; he 's a discreet fellow,
    When he 's made up in his robes of state.
    Your brother, the great duke, because h' 'as galleys,
    And now and then ransacks a Turkish fly-boat,
    (Now all the hellish furies take his soul!)
    First made this match: accursed be the priest
    That sang the wedding-mass, and even my issue!
  
  
  Isab.   Oh, too, too far you have curs'd!
  
  
  Brach.   Your hand I 'll kiss;
    This is the latest ceremony of my love.
    Henceforth I 'll never lie with thee; by this,
    This wedding-ring, I 'll ne'er more lie with thee!
    And this divorce shall be as truly kept,
    As if the judge had doomed it.  Fare you well:
    Our sleeps are sever'd.
  
  
  Isab.   Forbid it the sweet union
    Of all things blessed! why, the saints in heaven
    Will knit their brows at that.
  
  
  Brach.   Let not thy love
    Make thee an unbeliever; this my vow
    Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied
    With my repentance: let thy brother rage
    Beyond a horrid tempest, or sea-fight,
    My vow is fixed.
  
  
  Isab.   O, my winding-sheet!
    Now shall I need thee shortly.  Dear my lord,
    Let me hear once more, what I would not hear:
    Never?
  
  
  Brach.   Never.
  
  
  Isab.   Oh, my unkind lord! may your sins find mercy,
    As I upon a woeful widow'd bed
    Shall pray for you, if not to turn your eyes
    Upon your wretched wife and hopeful son,
    Yet that in time you 'll fix them upon heaven!
  
  
  Brach.   No more; go, go, complain to the great duke.
  
  
  Isab.   No, my dear lord; you shall have present witness
    How I 'll work peace between you.  I will make
    Myself the author of your cursed vow;
    I have some cause to do it, you have none.
    Conceal it, I beseech you, for the weal
    Of both your dukedoms, that you wrought the means
    Of such a separation: let the fault
    Remain with my supposed jealousy,
    And think with what a piteous and rent heart
    I shall perform this sad ensuing part.
  
  
  Enter Francisco, Flamineo, Monticelso, and Camillo
  
  
  Brach.   Well, take your course.--My honourable brother!
  
  
  Fran.   Sister!--This is not well, my lord.--Why, sister!--She merits not
    this welcome.
  
  
  Brach.   Welcome, say!
    She hath given a sharp welcome.
  
  
  Fran.   Are you foolish?
    Come, dry your tears: is this a modest course
    To better what is naught, to rail and weep?
    Grow to a reconcilement, or, by heaven,
    I 'll ne'er more deal between you.
  
  
  Isab.   Sir, you shall not;
    No, though Vittoria, upon that condition,
    Would become honest.
  
  
  Fran.   Was your husband loud
    Since we departed?
  
  
  Isab.   By my life, sir, no,
    I swear by that I do not care to lose.
    Are all these ruins of my former beauty
    Laid out for a whore's triumph?
  
  
  Fran.   Do you hear?
    Look upon other women, with what patience
    They suffer these slight wrongs, and with what justice
    They study to requite them: take that course.
  
  
  Isab.   O that I were a man, or that I had power
    To execute my apprehended wishes!
    I would whip some with scorpions.
  
  
  Fran.   What! turn'd fury!
  
  
  Isab.   To dig that strumpet's eyes out; let her die
    Some twenty months a-dying; to cut off
    Her nose and lips, pull out her rotten teeth;
    Preserve her flesh like mummia, for trophies
    Of my just anger!  Hell, to my affliction,
    Is mere snow-water.  By your favour, sir;--
    Brother, draw near, and my lord cardinal;--
    Sir, let me borrow of you but one kiss;
    Henceforth I 'll never lie with you, by this,
    This wedding-ring.
  
  
  Fran.   How, ne'er more lie with him!
  
  
  Isab.   And this divorce shall be as truly kept
    As if in thronged court a thousand ears
    Had heard it, and a thousand lawyers' hands
    Sealed to the separation.
  
  
  Brach.   Ne'er lie with me!
  
  
  Isab.   Let not my former dotage
    Make thee an unbeliever; this my vow
    Shall never on my soul be satisfied
    With my repentance: manet alta mente repostum.
  
  
  Fran.   Now, by my birth, you are a foolish, mad,
    And jealous woman.
  
  
  Brach.   You see 'tis not my seeking.
  
  
  Fran.   Was this your circle of pure unicorn's horn,
    You said should charm your lord! now horns upon thee,
    For jealousy deserves them!  Keep your vow
    And take your chamber.
  
  
  Isab.   No, sir, I 'll presently to Padua;
    I will not stay a minute.
  
  
  Mont.   Oh, good madam!
  
  
  Brach.   'Twere best to let her have her humour;
    Some half-day's journey will bring down her stomach,
    And then she 'll turn in post.
  
  
  Fran.   To see her come
    To my lord for a dispensation
    Of her rash vow, will beget excellent laughter.
  
  
  Isab.   'Unkindness, do thy office; poor heart, break:
    Those are the killing griefs, which dare not speak.'             [Exit.
  
  
  Marc.   Camillo's come, my lord.
  
  
  Enter Camillo
  
  
  Fran.   Where 's the commission?
  
  
  Marc.   'Tis here.
  
  
  Fran.   Give me the signet.
  
  
  Flam.   [Leading Brachiano aside.]  My lord, do you mark their
    whispering?  I will compound a medicine, out of their two heads,
    stronger than garlic, deadlier than stibium: the cantharides, which
    are scarce seen to stick upon the flesh, when they work to the heart,
    shall not do it with more silence or invisible cunning.
  
  
  Enter Doctor
  
  
  Brach.   About the murder?
  
  
  Flam.   They are sending him to Naples, but I 'll send him to Candy.
    Here 's another property too.
  
  
  Brach.   Oh, the doctor!
  
  
  Flam.   A poor quack-salving knave, my lord; one that should have been
    lashed for 's lechery, but that he confessed a judgment, had an
    execution laid upon him, and so put the whip to a non plus.
  
  
  Doctor.   And was cozened, my lord, by an arranter knave than myself, and
    made pay all the colorable execution.
  
  
  Flam.   He will shoot pills into a man's guts shall make them have more
    ventages than a cornet or a lamprey; he will poison a kiss; and was
    once minded for his masterpiece, because Ireland breeds no poison, to
    have prepared a deadly vapour in a Spaniard's fart, that should have
    poisoned all Dublin.
  
  
  Brach.   Oh, Saint Anthony's fire!
  
  
  Doctor.   Your secretary is merry, my lord.
  
  
  Flam.   O thou cursed antipathy to nature!  Look, his eye 's bloodshot,
    like a needle a surgeon stitcheth a wound with.  Let me embrace thee,
    toad, and love thee, O thou abominable, loathsome gargarism, that will
    fetch up lungs, lights, heart, and liver, by scruples!
  
  
  Brach.  No more.--I must employ thee, honest doctor:
    You must to Padua, and by the way,
    Use some of your skill for us.
  
  
  Doctor.   Sir, I shall.
  
  
  Brach.   But for Camillo?
  
  
  Flam.   He dies this night, by such a politic strain,
    Men shall suppose him by 's own engine slain.
    But for your duchess' death----
  
  
  Doctor.   I 'll make her sure.
  
  
  Brach.   Small mischiefs are by greater made secure.
  
  
  Flam.   Remember this, you slave; when knaves come to preferment, they
    rise as gallows in the Low Countries, one upon another's shoulders.
                 [Exeunt.  Monticelso, Camillo, and Francisco come forward.
  
  
  Mont.   Here is an emblem, nephew, pray peruse it:
    'Twas thrown in at your window.
  
  
  Cam.   At my window!
    Here is a stag, my lord, hath shed his horns,
    And, for the loss of them, the poor beast weeps:
    The word, Inopem me copia fecit.
  
  
  Mont.   That is,
    Plenty of horns hath made him poor of horns.
  
  
  Cam.   What should this mean?
  
  
  Mont.   I 'll tell you; 'tis given out
    You are a cuckold.
  
  
  Cam.   Is it given out so?
    I had rather such reports as that, my lord,
    Should keep within doors.
  
  
  Fran.   Have you any children?
  
  
  Cam.   None, my lord.
  
  
  Fran.   You are the happier:
    I 'll tell you a tale.
  
  
  Cam.   Pray, my lord.
  
  
  Fran.   An old tale.
    Upon a time Phoebus, the god of light,
    Or him we call the sun, would need to be married:
    The gods gave their consent, and Mercury
    Was sent to voice it to the general world.
    But what a piteous cry there straight arose
    Amongst smiths and felt-makers, brewers and cooks,
    Reapers and butter-women, amongst fishmongers,
    And thousand other trades, which are annoyed
    By his excessive heat! 'twas lamentable.
    They came to Jupiter all in a sweat,
    And do forbid the banns.  A great fat cook
    Was made their speaker, who entreats of Jove
    That Phoebus might be gelded; for if now,
    When there was but one sun, so many men
    Were like to perish by his violent heat,
    What should they do if he were married,
    And should beget more, and those children
    Make fireworks like their father?  So say I;
    Only I apply it to your wife;
    Her issue, should not providence prevent it,
    Would make both nature, time, and man repent it.
  
  
  Mont.   Look you, cousin,
    Go, change the air for shame; see if your absence
    Will blast your cornucopia.  Marcello
    Is chosen with you joint commissioner,
    For the relieving our Italian coast
    From pirates.
  
  
  Marc.   I am much honour'd in 't.
  
  
  Cam.   But, sir,
    Ere I return, the stag's horns may be sprouted
    Greater than those are shed.
  
  
  Mont.   Do not fear it;
    I 'll be your ranger.
  
  
  Cam.   You must watch i' th' nights;
    Then 's the most danger.
  
  
  Fran.   Farewell, good Marcello:
    All the best fortunes of a soldier's wish
    Bring you a-shipboard.
  
  
  Cam.   Were I not best, now I am turn'd soldier,
    Ere that I leave my wife, sell all she hath,
    And then take leave of her?
  
  
  Mont.   I expect good from you,
    Your parting is so merry.
  
  
  Cam.   Merry, my lord! a' th' captain's humour right,
    I am resolved to be drunk this night.                          [Exeunt.
  
  
  Fran.   So, 'twas well fitted; now shall we discern
    How his wish'd absence will give violent way
    To Duke Brachiano's lust.
  
  
  Mont.   Why, that was it;
    To what scorn'd purpose else should we make choice
    Of him for a sea-captain? and, besides,
    Count Lodowick, which was rumour'd for a pirate,
    Is now in Padua.
  
  
  Fran.   Is 't true?
  
  
  Mont.   Most certain.
    I have letters from him, which are suppliant
    To work his quick repeal from banishment:
    He means to address himself for pension
    Unto our sister duchess.
  
  
  Fran.   Oh, 'twas well!
    We shall not want his absence past six days:
    I fain would have the Duke Brachiano run
    Into notorious scandal; for there 's naught
    In such cursed dotage, to repair his name,
    Only the deep sense of some deathless shame.
  
  
  Mont.   It may be objected, I am dishonourable
    To play thus with my kinsman; but I answer,
    For my revenge I 'd stake a brother's life,
    That being wrong'd, durst not avenge himself.
  
  
  Fran.   Come, to observe this strumpet.
  
  
  Mont.   Curse of greatness!
    Sure he 'll not leave her?
  
  
  Fran.   There 's small pity in 't:
    Like mistletoe on sere elms spent by weather,
    Let him cleave to her, and both rot together.                  [Exeunt.
  
  
  
  SCENE II
  
  
  Enter Brachiano, with one in the habit of a conjurer
  
  
  Brach.   Now, sir, I claim your promise: 'tis dead midnight,
    The time prefix'd to show me by your art,
    How the intended murder of Camillo,
    And our loath'd duchess, grow to action.
  
  
  Conj.   You have won me by your bounty to a deed
    I do not often practise.  Some there are,
    Which by sophistic tricks, aspire that name
    Which I would gladly lose, of necromancer;
    As some that use to juggle upon cards,
    Seeming to conjure, when indeed they cheat;
    Others that raise up their confederate spirits
    'Bout windmills, and endanger their own necks
    For making of a squib; and some there are
    Will keep a curtal to show juggling tricks,
    And give out 'tis a spirit; besides these,
    Such a whole ream of almanac-makers, figure-flingers,
    Fellows, indeed that only live by stealth,
    Since they do merely lie about stol'n goods,
    They 'd make men think the devil were fast and loose,
    With speaking fustian Latin.  Pray, sit down;
    Put on this nightcap, sir, 'tis charmed; and now
    I 'll show you, by my strong commanding art,
    The circumstance that breaks your duchess' heart.
  
  
  A Dumb Show
  
  
  Enter suspiciously Julio and Christophero: they draw a curtain where
    Brachiano's picture is; they put on spectacles of glass, which cover
    their eyes and noses, and then burn perfumes before the picture, and
    wash the lips of the picture; that done, quenching the fire, and
    putting off their spectacles, they depart laughing.
  
  
  Enter Isabella in her night-gown, as to bedward, with lights, after her,
    Count Lodovico, Giovanni, Guidantonio, and others waiting on her: she
    kneels down as to prayers, then draws the curtain of the picture, does
    three reverences to it, and kisses it thrice; she faints, and will not
    suffer them to come near it; dies; sorrow expressed in Giovanni, and in
    Count Lodovico.  She is conveyed out solemnly.
  
  
  Brach.   Excellent! then she 's dead.
  
  
  Conj.   She 's poisoned
    By the fumed picture.  'Twas her custom nightly,
    Before she went to bed, to go and visit
    Your picture, and to feed her eyes and lips
    On the dead shadow: Doctor Julio,
    Observing this, infects it with an oil,
    And other poison'd stuff, which presently
    Did suffocate her spirits.
  
  
  Brach.   Methought I saw
    Count Lodowick there.
  
  
  Conj.   He was; and by my art
    I find he did most passionately dote
    Upon your duchess.  Now turn another way,
    And view Camillo's far more politic fate.
    Strike louder, music, from this charmed ground,
    To yield, as fits the act, a tragic sound!
  
  
  The Second Dumb Show
  
  
  Enter Flamineo, Marcello, Camillo, with four more as captains: they drink
    healths, and dance; a vaulting horse is brought into the room; Marcello
    and two more whispered out of the room, while Flamineo and Camillo
    strip themselves into their shirts, as to vault; compliment who shall
    begin; as Camillo is about to vault, Flamineo pitcheth him upon his
    neck, and, with the help of the rest, writhes his neck about; seems to
    see if it be broke, and lays him folded double, as 'twere under the
    horse; makes show to call for help; Marcello comes in, laments; sends
    for the cardinal and duke, who comes forth with armed men; wonders at
    the act; commands the body to be carried home; apprehends Flamineo,
    Marcello, and the rest, and go, as 'twere, to apprehend Vittoria.
  
  
  Brach.   'Twas quaintly done; but yet each circumstance
    I taste not fully.
  
  
  Conj.   Oh, 'twas most apparent!
    You saw them enter, charg'd with their deep healths
    To their boon voyage; and, to second that,
    Flamineo calls to have a vaulting horse
    Maintain their sport; the virtuous Marcello
    Is innocently plotted forth the room;
    Whilst your eye saw the rest, and can inform you
    The engine of all.
  
  
  Brach.   It seems Marcello and Flamineo
    Are both committed.
  
  
  Conj.   Yes, you saw them guarded;
    And now they are come with purpose to apprehend
    Your mistress, fair Vittoria.  We are now
    Beneath her roof: 'twere fit we instantly
    Make out by some back postern.
  
  
  Brach.   Noble friend,
    You bind me ever to you: this shall stand
    As the firm seal annexed to my hand;
    It shall enforce a payment.                            [Exit Brachiano.
  
  
  Conj.   Sir, I thank you.
    Both flowers and weeds spring, when the sun is warm,
    And great men do great good, or else great harm.
                                                                     [Exit.
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Act 2
target: Act 2 opens in the home of Francisco de Medici, who is the Duke of Florence and Isabella's brother. On stage are Francisco, Isabella, Cardinal Monticelso, Marcello, Giovanni, and little Jacques the Moor. Francisco asks Isabella, who has just returned to Rome, whether she has yet seen her husband, the Duke of Brachiano. When she says she has not, Francisco jokes that Camillo should burn his house down to destroy the lecherous hangers-on that surround it. It is unclear whether he means to implicate Brachiano as one of those hangers-on. Giovanni, Isabella and Brachiano's son, reminds his uncle Francisco that he promised him a horse, and Francisco repeats his promise. Marcello, Vittoria's brother and Francisco's attendant, announces that Brachiano has arrived. Isabella pleads for her brother to be kind to her husband, and then exits, after which Francisco orders Marcello, Flamineo, Giovanni, and his servant Jacques the Moor to follow. When Brachiano enters, Francisco asks Cardinal Monticelso to speak for him, and Monticelso chastises Brachiano for neglecting his throne for an illicit affair. He explains that such behavior tarnishes his public reputation, and then vaguely threatens Brachiano. Francisco then joins the lecture, calling Vittoria Brachiano's prostitute, and threatening war if his brother-in-law does not remedy the situation. Brachiano grows contemptuously assertive, warning Francisco that he would win any such battle. Francisco then insists Brachiano will soon realize that Vittoria is a prostitute when his hair falls out from venereal disease. At that moment, Giovanni enters, dressed in a suit of armor. Monticelso further suggests to Brachiano that the boy needs a virtuous role model in his father. Giovanni asks for a pike, and explains to them that if he were the leader of an army, he would put himself on the front lines to set an example for his men. Faced with the boy's earnestness, Brachiano and Francisco appear to reconcile. Isabella enters again, and Francisco, Monticelso, and Giovanni exit. Brachiano remarks on Isabella's good health, and asks what brought her to Rome so hurriedly. Isabella explains that she returned from devotion, which Brachiano interprets as religious devotion, but which Isabella means as marital fidelity. She suggests that they must pray for the forgiveness of Brachiano's sins, which angers him. He tells her to go to her room, but she begs him for a kiss. He accuses her of being jealous, which she denies. When he draws near to her mouth for a kiss, he recoils from her bad breath. He accuses her of forming conspiracies against him with her family, and of having had an affair with a young man in Rome. Against Isabella's protestations of love, Brachiano insults Francisco as a fat fool, and he curses their marriage and their son. In a parody of traditional marriage vows, he divorces Isabella on the grounds of her supposed infidelity. Isabella warns that she will die and soon ascend to heaven without him, but she also offers to take public responsibility for the divorce on the grounds of his actual infidelity and of her jealousy, which would make him look slightly better to society. Francisco, Flamineo, Marcello, and Monticelso re-enter the room, where Isabella is now playing out the divorce. To the men, Isabella appears jealous and vengeful, threatening Vittoria and calling her a a whore. She repeats Brachiano's divorce vows as Francisco looks on increduously. Seeing Isabella as a jealous woman, Francisco tells her that she deserves her cuckold's horns, and Isabella threatens to leave immediately for Padua. Francisco protests, but Brachiano encourages the plan. To herself, Isabella mourns the loss of her marriage and her breaking heart. Camillo enters, and while Francisco is distracted by business, Flamineo plots secretly with Brachiano to kill Camillo and Isabella. Flamineo introduces Brachiano to Doctor Julio, a quack doctor and criminal who will gladly help poison Isabella in Padua. Further, they can arrange for Camillo to die that night of an apparent accident. Pleased with their plans, the three men exit. Monticelso explains to Camillo how an emblem, or allegorical drawing, has been thrown at him. The picture is of a horn-less stag weeping, with the saying that "plenty of horns hath made him poor of horns." Monticelso interprets the picture as proof that Camillo has been cuckolded, and Francisco then tells him the story of Phoebus, the sun god's, marriage. When Phoebus was to be married, all the humans begged the other gods to castrate Phoebus, explaining that one sun already caused too much heat. If Phoebus were to have children, life would become unbearable. Francisco warns Camillo that if Vittoria reproduces, all of humankind will suffer from her progeny, and advises him to leave to go fight the pirates who currently plague Rome. Camillo worries that his absence may only inflame the adultery, but Monticelso promises to watch Vittoria in his absence. Camillo and Marcello then leave, at which point Francisco and Monticelso admit that they send him away in order to test Brachiano. Monticelso reveals that Lodovico, the rumored pirate, is actually in Padua, and wants to plead with Isabella to help him overturn his banishment. He explains that although it may seem dishonorable to deceive his nephew Camillo, he would rather hurt Camillo in order to avenge him, than let the wrongs against Camillo go unavenged. Scene 2 Brachiano and a Conjurer enter in the dead of night. Brachiano begs the Conjurer to reveal how his murder plans are unfolding, and the Conjurer insists that he usually avoids dark deeds, as he hates being called a "nigromancer." However, because Brachiano has paid him, he will fulfill the request. A dumb show - action performed in pantomime - is enacted on one side of the stage. Brachiano watches as Doctor Julio and Christophero creep suspiciously into Isabella's bedroom. They pull aside a curtain to reveal a portrait of Brachiano. They put on protective glasses and cover the portrait's lips with poison, and then leave, laughing. Isabella then enters the room, followed by Lodovico, Giovanni, Guid-Antonio, and unnamed others. She prays before the painting, and then kisses it three times. Almost immediately, she faints and dies. Brachiano is pleased with the vision the Conjurer has shown him, and the Conjurer explains that Doctor Julio concocted that plan after noticing Isabella's habit of kissing the painting. When Brachiano asks why Lodovico was there, the Conjurer explains how Lodovico passionately dotes on Isabella. The Conjurer then conjures up the second dumb show, this time on the other side of the stage. Flamineo, Marcello, Camillo, and several unnamed captains enter, and carouse a while before someone fetches a vaulting-horse. Marcello leaves the room, while Flamineo and Camillo strip their clothes off in order to vault. Camillo is about to vault when Flamineo breaks his neck and then arranges the body to suggest Camillo died while vaulting. Flamineo calls for help, and Marcello rushes in with Francisco and Monticelso. The Duke and the Cardinal apprehend Flamineo and Marcello, and then leave, seemingly to also apprehend Vittoria. Brachiano thanks and pays the Conjurer for showing him the murders, and the latter cryptically warns that "great men do great good, or else great harm."
feat_summary_analysis: In this Act does the meaning behind the play's title become more apparent. In the first scene of Act II, Jaques the Moor, who would have been a black African, stands silent as a visual shadow of the great white men present, including Francisco and Monticelso. The title of the play suggests the importance of color in determining guilt. White, usually associated with innocence and virtue, instead aligns itself with vice and sin. In Jacques's presence, we see a visual reminder of the darkness lurking behind the "white" facades of such great men as Francisco and Monticelso. Although these men are ostensibly on the side of the law, their private actions suggest that each of them may be as much of a villain as Lodovico or Flamineo. It is in keeping with the play's many ironies that the traditionally pure "white" should hide darkness and sin. Francisco's power is extremely apparent. The stage is crowded at the Act's opening, but Francisco clears it with a simple order. This is a startling visual display of his power, as well as an echo of Act 1, Scene 1. Similar to that earlier scene, this one features two men chastising a third for his immoral actions. Francisco criticizes his brother-in-law Brachiano, and uses the threat of war as a tactic. Their overly aggressive, masculine displays are ceded by the arrival of Giovani, who implicitly shames them by suggesting the chivalric masculine behavior of protecting his men as a hypothetical army captain. Giovanni is a visual representation of what Brachiano should be striving for - the chivalric values of virtue and courtly love. Like each Act of the play, Act II features several scenes of irony. One of the most notable is the divorce scene, which parodies a marriage ceremony even as it dissolves a union. Isabella is the wronged person, yet she offers to play the martyr. She is the only one with an actual cause, and yet offers to facilitate a divorce she could oppose. All of her virtue ironically pleads Brachiano's case to the audience, however; her excessive sanctimony helps us understand why her husband would prefer a sensual lover to his prim, overly-religious wife. The irony is compounded as soon as Monticelso and Francisco re-enter, and Isabella acts like a jealous shrew for the sake of her husband's happiness. The misogyny of this world is also apparent in this scene, as Francisco calls his sister a "foolish, mad, and jealous woman" for her displays. A woman's jealousy is enough cause for a man to request divorce, though a woman's knowledge of a man's infidelity would not necessarily prove just cause. Isabella is limited in her agency, and is only able to reach a desired end through manipulation, creating a scene that is not as it seems. The play's pessimistic view of humanity is quite apparent after Isabella leaves, and Camillo and Julio enter. The six men on stage divide into two groups of three, establishing a "split-stage" that highlights parallels and contrasts between the two groups. In each case, two characters concoct a plot that is to be enacted by the third. Flamineo and Brachiano plot to kill both Isabella and Camillo with the help of the mysterious Doctor Julio, while Monticelso and Francisco manipulate Camillo into leaving, so that they may observe Brachiano's behavior. While Monticelso and Francisco are ostensibly working on the side of virtue and the law, they employ treachery just as deviously as Brachiano and Flamineo. Ironically, their pursuit of virtue reveals their moral limitations. Monticelso addresses this contradiction, by suggesting that revenge is most important - he would rather gamble with Camillo's life by sending him out to sea than let his nephew be made a fool of. Yet again, reputation trumps most other qualities, and the pursuit of it causes all characters to reveal their vice. Webster's plays reveal their innate theatricality in performance, and the dumbshows created by the Conjurer are quite delightful to see. However, they also possess much literary value. Isabella's death is a foreshadowing of Brachiano's own, which occurs through a poisoned mouthpiece, as well as a reference to how Brachiano divorced her with a kiss. Camillo's death conforms somewhat to the historical record, in which Francesco Peretti, his historical counterpart, was murdered at Monte Cavallo, literally "horse mount." The activity also serves as a sexual pun, however, since vaulting can imply sexually mounting, and Camillo's placement underneath the vault highlights his sexual impotency. Finally, the Conjurer's assessment at the end of the Act provides insight into Webster's sense of humanity. By noting that great men do either great or terrible things, he indicates that people are rarely pure in their virtue or vice, but rather easily led to devote their potential to either or both. The "great" man might do the worst things, and cannot be understood simply by his outward appearance. Likewise, sometimes the man who does "harm" is in fact "great." What we are capable of is not always apparent, in the same way that morality is not always contained in white.