finished_summaries/shmoop/The White Devil/section_10_part_0.txt
The White Devil.act 5.scene 1
act 5, scene 1
{"name": "Act 5, Scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210510044810/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/the-white-devil/summary/act-5-scene-1", "summary": "After Vittoria and the Duke are married, Brachiano, Flamineo, Marcello, Hortensio,Vittoria, Cornelia, Zanche, and others pass over the stage in a procession. Only Flamineo and Hortensio remain behind. Flamineo says this marriage has made him the happiest he's been in a long time, and they talk about the Moor who is visiting the court. Flamineo says that the Moor seems like a great soldier. They also mention the Moor's companions, two Hungarian noblemen and former warriors who have become monks, now retiring to join the Capuchin order. Flamineo and Hortensio keep talking about the Moor: he is a Christian, and, according to Flamineo, he has an admirably low tolerance for courtly nonsense. He seems to understand that nobles are just as flawed as everyone else. Brachiano, the Moor , the Capuchin monks , and Antonelli all enter. Brachiano praises Mulinassar, and asks him to stay to see some fights at some barriers they'll build tonight, along with ambassadors who are there for the wedding. Mulinassar agrees, and Brachiano, Hortensio, and Flamineo exit. The remaining people on stage--Francisco, Lodovico, Gasparo, and Antonelli--all re-state their vows for revenge, embracing. Lodovico wishes they could poison Brachiano's tennis racket or saddle or do something cool like that. Francisco is open to sneaky stuff, but he kind of wishes he could've killed Brachiano on an open and fair field of fight. Lodovico, Antonelli, and Gasparo all exit, and Flamineo, Marcello, and Zanche re-enter. Marcello says that Flamineo is having an affair with Zanche, and Flamineo acts mildly dismissive, saying women tend to stick where their affection throws them. Zanche says she'll talk to the Moor--since she's a moor, as well--soon, when she gets the chance. She exits. Flamineo and Marcello chat with Mulinassar. Flamineo asks Mulinassar to tell them his exploits, but he's reluctant to toot his own horn. He also won't flatter the duke, since he believes all men are equal made of the same clay. Flamineo says he would probably boast about his war service if he had to beg in churches. Marcello says he's a soldier too, but hasn't made much money. Flamineo says good soldiers aren't recognized in peacetime. He'd personally rather be a cardinal's minion and get away with villainy. Flamineo talks about people he's heard of who went to fight the Turks and discovered they only earned enough money to buy themselves wooden legs and bandages. Francisco exits. Hortensio, a young Lord, and Zanche enter. The young Lord says they're getting ready to fight , and Flamineo disparages this young Lord to Hortensio. Flamineo tells Hortensio that he loves Zanche, but nervously and with caution, since she knows about his villainy. He's promised to marry her, but he acts like it wasn't a serious thing. Zanche comes over, and accuses Flamineo of being cool towards her. He says that's a good thing, and disputes with her when she asks if he remembers the promises he made her: yeah, he remembers them, but they were the like the prayers sailors make in a storm before things calm down and they go back to drinking. Cornelia enters and hits Zanche, telling her to go back to the kitchen. Cornelia exits. Zanche complains about Cornelia, and then Marcello calls her a strumpet and kicks her. Flamineo defends Zanche and argues with Marcello. As the argument heats up, Marcello threatens to cut Zanche's throat. Flamineo says he thinks Marcello might be the product of adultery, and Marcello says that they might end up killing one another. All exit, except for Zanche. Francisco, as Mulinassar, enters. Zanche confesses her love for him, and says that she'll give him a decent dowry if he marries her. Mulinassar says he'll consider the idea. She also says that she can tell him blood-curdling secrets, and Francisco thinks he might be able to get some good intel out of her. They both exit.", "analysis": ""}
ACT V SCENE I


A passage over the stage of Brachiano, Flamineo, Marcello, Hortensio,
  Corombona, Cornelia, Zanche, and others: Flamineo and Hortensio remain.


Flam.   In all the weary minutes of my life,
  Day ne'er broke up till now.  This marriage
  Confirms me happy.


Hort.   'Tis a good assurance.
  Saw you not yet the Moor that 's come to court?


Flam.   Yes, and conferr'd with him i' th' duke's closet.
  I have not seen a goodlier personage,
  Nor ever talk'd with man better experience'd
  In State affairs, or rudiments of war.
  He hath, by report, serv'd the Venetian
  In Candy these twice seven years, and been chief
  In many a bold design.


Hort.   What are those two
  That bear him company?


Flam.   Two noblemen of Hungary, that, living in the emperor's service as
  commanders, eight years since, contrary to the strict Order of
  Capuchins; but, being not well settled in their undertaking, they left
  their Order, and returned to court; for which, being after troubled in
  conscience, they vowed their service against the enemies of Christ,
  went to Malta, were there knighted, and in their return back, at this
  great solemnity, they are resolved for ever to forsake the world, and
  settle themselves here in a house of Capuchins in Padua.


Hort.   'Tis strange.


Flam.   One thing makes it so: they have vowed for ever to wear, next
  their bare bodies, those coats of mail they served in.


Hort.   Hard penance!
  Is the Moor a Christian?


Flam.   He is.


Hort.   Why proffers he his service to our duke?


Flam.   Because he understands there 's like to grow
  Some wars between us and the Duke of Florence,
  In which he hopes employment.
  I never saw one in a stern bold look
  Wear more command, nor in a lofty phrase
  Express more knowing, or more deep contempt
  As if he travell'd all the princes' courts
  Of Christendom: in all things strives t' express,
  That all, that should dispute with him, may know,
  Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,
  But look'd to near, have neither heat nor light.
  The duke.


Enter Brachiano, Francisco disguised like Mulinassar, Lodovico
  and Gasparo, bearing their swords, their helmets down, Antonelli,
  Farnese.


Brach.  You are nobly welcome.  We have heard at full
  Your honourable service 'gainst the Turk.
  To you, brave Mulinassar, we assign
  A competent pension: and are inly sorry,
  The vows of those two worthy gentlemen
  Make them incapable of our proffer'd bounty.
  Your wish is, you may leave your warlike swords
  For monuments in our chapel: I accept it,
  As a great honour done me, and must crave
  Your leave to furnish out our duchess' revels.
  Only one thing, as the last vanity
  You e'er shall view, deny me not to stay
  To see a barriers prepar'd to-night:
  You shall have private standings.  It hath pleas'd
  The great ambassadors of several princes,
  In their return from Rome to their own countries,
  To grace our marriage, and to honour me
  With such a kind of sport.


Fran.   I shall persuade them to stay, my lord.


Brach.   Set on there to the presence.
                              [Exeunt Brachiano, Flamineo, and Hortensio.


Lodo.   Noble my lord, most fortunately welcome;
                                           [The conspirators her embrace.
  You have our vows, seal'd with the sacrament,
  To second your attempts.


Gas.   And all things ready;
  He could not have invented his own ruin
  (Had he despair'd) with more propriety.


Lodo.   You would not take my way.


Fran.   'Tis better order'd.


Lodo.   T' have poison'd his prayer-book, or a pair of beads,
  The pummel of his saddle, his looking-glass,
  Or th' handle of his racket,--O, that, that!
  That while he had been bandying at tennis,
  He might have sworn himself to hell, and strook
  His soul into the hazard!  Oh, my lord,
  I would have our plot be ingenious,
  And have it hereafter recorded for example,
  Rather than borrow example.


Fran.   There 's now way
  More speeding that this thought on.


Lodo.   On, then.


Fran.   And yet methinks that this revenge is poor,
  Because it steals upon him like a thief:
  To have ta'en him by the casque in a pitch'd field,
  Led him to Florence----


Lodo.   It had been rare: and there
  Have crown'd him with a wreath of stinking garlic,
  T' have shown the sharpness of his government,
  And rankness of his lust.  Flamineo comes.
                                [Exeunt Lodovico, Antonelli, and Gasparo.


Enter Flamineo, Marcello, and Zanche


Marc.   Why doth this devil haunt you, say?


Flam.   I know not:
  For by this light, I do not conjure for her.
  'Tis not so great a cunning as men think,
  To raise the devil; for here 's one up already;
  The greatest cunning were to lay him down.


Marc.   She is your shame.


Flam.   I pray thee pardon her.
  In faith, you see, women are like to burs,
  Where their affection throws them, there they 'll stick.


Zan.   That is my countryman, a goodly person;
  When he 's at leisure, I 'll discourse with him
  In our own language.


Flam.   I beseech you do.                                   [Exit Zanche.
  How is 't, brave soldier?  Oh, that I had seen
  Some of your iron days!  I pray relate
  Some of your service to us.


Fran.   'Tis a ridiculous thing for a man to be his own chronicle: I did
  never wash my mouth with mine own praise, for fear of getting a
  stinking breath.


Marc.   You 're too stoical.  The duke will expect other discourse from
  you.


Fran.   I shall never flatter him: I have studied man too much to do
  that.  What difference is between the duke and I? no more than between
  two bricks, all made of one clay: only 't may be one is placed in top
  of a turret, the other in the bottom of a well, by mere chance.  If I
  were placed as high as the duke, I should stick as fast, make as fair a
  show, and bear out weather equally.


Flam.   If this soldier had a patent to beg in churches, then he would
  tell them stories.


Marc.   I have been a soldier too.


Fran.   How have you thrived?


Marc.   Faith, poorly.


Fran.   That 's the misery of peace: only outsides are then respected.
  As ships seem very great upon the river, which show very little upon
  the seas, so some men i' th' court seem Colossuses in a chamber, who,
  if they came into the field, would appear pitiful pigmies.


Flam.   Give me a fair room yet hung with arras, and some great cardinal
  to lug me by th' ears, as his endeared minion.


Fran.   And thou mayest do the devil knows what villainy.


Flam.   And safely.


Fran.   Right: you shall see in the country, in harvest-time, pigeons,
  though they destroy never so much corn, the farmer dare not present the
  fowling-piece to them: why? because they belong to the lord of the
  manor; whilst your poor sparrows, that belong to the Lord of Heaven,
  they go to the pot for 't.


Flam.   I will now give you some politic instruction.  The duke says he
  will give you pension; that 's but bare promise; get it under his hand.
  For I have known men that have come from serving against the Turk, for
  three or four months they have had pension to buy them new wooden legs,
  and fresh plasters; but after, 'twas not to be had.  And this miserable
  courtesy shows as if a tormentor should give hot cordial drinks to one
  three-quarters dead o' th' rack, only to fetch the miserable soul again
  to endure more dog-days.
   [Exit Francisco.  Enter Hortensio, a young Lord, Zanche, and two more.
  How now, gallants? what, are they ready for the barriers?


Young Lord.   Yes: the lords are putting on their armour.


Hort.   What 's he?


Flam.   A new upstart; one that swears like a falconer, and will lie in
  the duke's ear day by day, like a maker of almanacs: and yet I knew
  him, since he came to th' court, smell worse of sweat than an under
  tennis-court keeper.


Hort.   Look you, yonder 's your sweet mistress.


Flam.   Thou art my sworn brother: I 'll tell thee, I do love that Moor,
  that witch, very constrainedly.  She knows some of my villainy.  I do
  love her just as a man holds a wolf by the ears; but for fear of her
  turning upon me, and pulling out my throat, I would let her go to the
  devil.


Hort.   I hear she claims marriage of thee.


Flam.   'Faith, I made to her some such dark promise; and, in seeking to
  fly from 't, I run on, like a frighted dog with a bottle at 's tail,
  that fain would bite it off, and yet dares not look behind him.  Now,
  my precious gipsy.


Zan.   Ay, your love to me rather cools than heats.


Flam.   Marry, I am the sounder lover; we have many wenches about the
  town heat too fast.


Hort.   What do you think of these perfumed gallants, then?


Flam.   Their satin cannot save them: I am confident
  They have a certain spice of the disease;
  For they that sleep with dogs shall rise with fleas.


Zan.   Believe it, a little painting and gay clothes make you loathe me.


Flam.   How, love a lady for painting or gay apparel?  I 'll unkennel one
  example more for thee.  AEsop had a foolish dog that let go the flesh to
  catch the shadow; I would have courtiers be better diners.


Zan.   You remember your oaths?


Flam.   Lovers' oaths are like mariners' prayers, uttered in extremity;
  but when the tempest is o'er, and that the vessel leaves tumbling, they
  fall from protesting to drinking.  And yet, amongst gentlemen,
  protesting and drinking go together, and agree as well as shoemakers
  and Westphalia bacon: they are both drawers on; for drink draws on
  protestation, and protestation draws on more drink.  Is not this
  discourse better now than the morality of your sunburnt gentleman?


Enter Cornelia


Corn.   Is this your perch, you haggard? fly to th' stews.
                                                         [Strikes Zanche.


Flam.   You should be clapped by th' heels now: strike i' th' court!
                                                          [Exit Cornelia.


Zan.   She 's good for nothing, but to make her maids
  Catch cold a-nights: they dare not use a bedstaff,
  For fear of her light fingers.


Marc.   You 're a strumpet,
  An impudent one.                                         [Kicks Zanche.


Flam.   Why do you kick her, say?
  Do you think that she 's like a walnut tree?
  Must she be cudgell'd ere she bear good fruit?


Marc.   She brags that you shall marry her.


Flam.   What then?


Marc.   I had rather she were pitch'd upon a stake,
  In some new-seeded garden, to affright
  Her fellow crows thence.


Flam.   You 're a boy, a fool,
  Be guardian to your hound; I am of age.


Marc.   If I take her near you, I 'll cut her throat.


Flam.   With a fan of feather?


Marc.   And, for you, I 'll whip
  This folly from you.


Flam.   Are you choleric?
  I 'll purge it with rhubarb.


Hort.   Oh, your brother!


Flam.   Hang him,
  He wrongs me most, that ought t' offend me least:
  I do suspect my mother play'd foul play,
  When she conceiv'd thee.


Marc.   Now, by all my hopes,
  Like the two slaughter'd sons of OEdipus,
  The very flames of our affection
  Shall turn two ways.  Those words I 'll make thee answer
  With thy heart-blood.


Flam.   Do, like the geese in the progress;
  You know where you shall find me.


Marc.   Very good.                                        [Exit Flamineo.
  And thou be'st a noble friend, bear him my sword,
  And bid him fit the length on 't.


Young Lord.   Sir, I shall.                       [Exeunt all but Zanche.


Zan.   He comes.  Hence petty thought of my disgrace!
                                                        [Enter Francisco.
  I ne'er lov'd my complexion till now,
  'Cause I may boldly say, without a blush,
  I love you.


Fran.   Your love is untimely sown; there 's a spring at Michaelmas, but
  'tis but a faint one: I am sunk in years, and I have vowed never to
  marry.


Zan.   Alas! poor maids get more lovers than husbands: yet you may
  mistake my wealth.  For, as when ambassadors are sent to congratulate
  princes, there 's commonly sent along with them a rich present, so
  that, though the prince like not the ambassador's person, nor words,
  yet he likes well of the presentment; so I may come to you in the same
  manner, and be better loved for my dowry than my virtue.


Fran.   I 'll think on the motion.


Zan.   Do; I 'll now detain you no longer.  At your better leisure, I 'll
  tell you things shall startle your blood:
  Nor blame me that this passion I reveal;
  Lovers die inward that their flames conceal.


Fran.   Of all intelligence this may prove the best:
  Sure I shall draw strange fowl from this foul nest.            [Exeunt.




Act 5, Scene 1
After Vittoria and the Duke are married, Brachiano, Flamineo, Marcello, Hortensio,Vittoria, Cornelia, Zanche, and others pass over the stage in a procession. Only Flamineo and Hortensio remain behind. Flamineo says this marriage has made him the happiest he's been in a long time, and they talk about the Moor who is visiting the court. Flamineo says that the Moor seems like a great soldier. They also mention the Moor's companions, two Hungarian noblemen and former warriors who have become monks, now retiring to join the Capuchin order. Flamineo and Hortensio keep talking about the Moor: he is a Christian, and, according to Flamineo, he has an admirably low tolerance for courtly nonsense. He seems to understand that nobles are just as flawed as everyone else. Brachiano, the Moor , the Capuchin monks , and Antonelli all enter. Brachiano praises Mulinassar, and asks him to stay to see some fights at some barriers they'll build tonight, along with ambassadors who are there for the wedding. Mulinassar agrees, and Brachiano, Hortensio, and Flamineo exit. The remaining people on stage--Francisco, Lodovico, Gasparo, and Antonelli--all re-state their vows for revenge, embracing. Lodovico wishes they could poison Brachiano's tennis racket or saddle or do something cool like that. Francisco is open to sneaky stuff, but he kind of wishes he could've killed Brachiano on an open and fair field of fight. Lodovico, Antonelli, and Gasparo all exit, and Flamineo, Marcello, and Zanche re-enter. Marcello says that Flamineo is having an affair with Zanche, and Flamineo acts mildly dismissive, saying women tend to stick where their affection throws them. Zanche says she'll talk to the Moor--since she's a moor, as well--soon, when she gets the chance. She exits. Flamineo and Marcello chat with Mulinassar. Flamineo asks Mulinassar to tell them his exploits, but he's reluctant to toot his own horn. He also won't flatter the duke, since he believes all men are equal made of the same clay. Flamineo says he would probably boast about his war service if he had to beg in churches. Marcello says he's a soldier too, but hasn't made much money. Flamineo says good soldiers aren't recognized in peacetime. He'd personally rather be a cardinal's minion and get away with villainy. Flamineo talks about people he's heard of who went to fight the Turks and discovered they only earned enough money to buy themselves wooden legs and bandages. Francisco exits. Hortensio, a young Lord, and Zanche enter. The young Lord says they're getting ready to fight , and Flamineo disparages this young Lord to Hortensio. Flamineo tells Hortensio that he loves Zanche, but nervously and with caution, since she knows about his villainy. He's promised to marry her, but he acts like it wasn't a serious thing. Zanche comes over, and accuses Flamineo of being cool towards her. He says that's a good thing, and disputes with her when she asks if he remembers the promises he made her: yeah, he remembers them, but they were the like the prayers sailors make in a storm before things calm down and they go back to drinking. Cornelia enters and hits Zanche, telling her to go back to the kitchen. Cornelia exits. Zanche complains about Cornelia, and then Marcello calls her a strumpet and kicks her. Flamineo defends Zanche and argues with Marcello. As the argument heats up, Marcello threatens to cut Zanche's throat. Flamineo says he thinks Marcello might be the product of adultery, and Marcello says that they might end up killing one another. All exit, except for Zanche. Francisco, as Mulinassar, enters. Zanche confesses her love for him, and says that she'll give him a decent dowry if he marries her. Mulinassar says he'll consider the idea. She also says that she can tell him blood-curdling secrets, and Francisco thinks he might be able to get some good intel out of her. They both exit.