Pirandello's Henry IV Read Online Free PDF Page A

her, Duchess. I turn to you because you must have a mother’s heart. She came to see me, from her convent, a month ago. They tell me she’s dead, (
smiling
sadly
) But I can’t grieve for her, because if you’re here and I’m in sackcloth, that means I’m twenty-six.
    HAROLD    (
whispering, comforting
) So it follows she can’t be dead, Your Majesty.
    HENRY    So I’ll grieve for her all in good time.
    Henry shows Matilda his hair colour, almost coquettishly.
    HENRY    (
cont.
) Look!—still blond! (
confidentially
) For you. I don’t care for myself. Though it helps . . . a little touch . . . trim the sails of time, you follow me, Monsignor?
    Henry goes to look at her hair.
    HENRY    (
cont.
) Oh, I see that you, too . . . Italians!
Tsk
! Far be it for me to criticize . . . None of us likes to acknowledge the mortality that sets limits to our will. But if you’re born you die, that’s what I say! Did you ask to be born, Monsignor? I didn’t. And between birth and death, neither of our choosing, many things happen we wouldn’t have chosen, which reluctantly—we have to live with.
    DOCTOR    (
studying Henry closely
) True . . . sad but true . . .
    HENRY    You see, when we refuse to resign ourselves, what’s the result? Wishful thinking at its most futile. A woman who wishes she were a man . . . an old man who wishes he were young . . . None of us lies or pretends—what happens is, in all sincerity, we inhabit the self we have chosen for ourselves, and don’t let go. But while you’re holding tight, gripping on to your monk’s robe, Monsignor, from out your sleeve something slips away without you noticing: your life! And how surprised you’ll be when you suddenly see it going, gone—how you’ll despise yourself—and how sorry you’ll be, oh yes, if you only knew how often I’vegrieved over mine, slithering off—it had my face but was so disfigured I had to turn away.
    Henry approaches Matilda.
    HENRY    (
cont.
) Has that never happened to you, my lady? Do you think of yourself unchanging and unchanged? Oh God, but there was a day . . . How could you? How could you have done that?
    He stares into Matilda’s eyes.
    HENRY    (
cont.
) Yes—that. We understand each other. Don’t worry, it’s our secret. And you, Peter Damian . . . that you could be friends with someone like that!
    LANDOLF    Your Majesty . . .
    HENRY    No names. I know how upset people get.
    Henry turns to Belcredi.
    HENRY    (
cont.
) Do you agree? We all hug our idea of ourselves to ourselves. As our hair turns greyer, we keep pace with the colouring bottle. It’s of no consequence that I fool nobody. You, Duchess, don’t fool yourself or anybody else—perhaps the image in your mirror, just a tiny bit. I do it to amuse myself. You do it in earnest. But no amount of earnestness stops it being a masquerade, and I’m not referring to your cloak and coronet. I’m talking about a memory of yourself you want to hold tight, the memory of a day gone by when to be fair-haired was your delight—or dark-haired if you were dark: the faded memory of being young. With you, it’s different, Peter Damian. The memory of who you were, what you did, is no more than a dream that’s safe with you—isn’t that so?—a bad dream. It’s the same for me. Dreams, many of them, now I think of it,with no meaning I can explain. Oh, well!—nothing to be done, and tomorrow will be more of the same.
    Henry flies into a sudden fury, grabbing the sackcloth he’s wearing.
    HENRY    (
cont.
) This sackcloth . . . !
    Then with a wild joy, Henry makes as if to rip the sackcloth off, while Harold and Ordulf, frightened, rush to stop him.
    HENRY    (
cont.
) Oh God!
    (
backing away, shouting, taking off his