Who loathed food, and sleep, and ceremony,
For thought of losing that brave gentleman
She would fain have sav’d, had not a false conveyance
Express’d him stubborn-hearted. Let me sink
Where neither man nor memory may ever find me.”
Webster forestalled Balzac by two hundred years in what he says of a woman’s last passion. The revenge on which she fixes is, at the cost of her own honor, to declare Romelio illegitimate. She says that his true father was one Crispiano, a Spanish gentleman, the friend of her husband. Naturally, when the trial comes on, Crispiano, unrecognized, turns up in court as the very judge who is to preside over it. He first gets the year of the alleged adultery fixed by the oath of Leonora and her maid, and then professes to remember that Crispiano had told him of giving a portrait of himself to Leonora, has it sent for, and, revealing himself, identifies himself by it, saying, prettily enough (those old dramatists have a way of stating dry facts so fancifully as to make them blossom, as it were),
“Behold, I am the shadow of this shadow.”
He then proves an alibi at the date in question by his friend Ariosto, whom meanwhile he has just promoted to the bench in his own place, by virtue of a convenient commission from the king of Spain, which he has in his pocket. At the end of the trial, the counsel for Leonora exclaimed:—
“Ud’s foot, we’re spoiled;
Why, our client is proved an honest woman!”