Let me briefly analyze “The White Devil.” Vittoria Corombona, a beautiful woman, is married to Camillo, whom she did not love. She becomes the paramour of the Duke of Brachiano, whose Duchess is the sister of Francesco de’ Medici and of Cardinal Monticelso. One of the brothers of Vittoria, Flamineo, is secretary to Brachiano, and contrives to murder Camillo for them. Vittoria, as there is no sufficient proof to fix the charge of murder upon her, is tried for incontinency, and sent to a house of Convertites, whence Brachiano spirits her away, meaning to marry her. In the mean while Brachiano’s Duchess is got out of the way by poison; the lips of his portrait, which she kisses every night before going to bed, having been smeared with a deadly drug to that end. There is a Count Ludovico, who had proffered an unholy love to the Duchess, but had been repulsed by her, and he gladly offers himself as the minister of vengeance. Just as Brachiano is arming for a tournament arranged for the purpose by his brother-in-law, the Duke of Florence, Ludovico poisons his helmet, so that he shortly dies in torture. Ludovico then murders Vittoria, Zanche, her Moorish maid, and Flamineo, and is himself shot by the guards of the young Duke Giovanni, son of Brachiano, who break in upon him just as he has completed his butchery. There are but four characters in the play unstained with crime--Cornelia, Vittoria’s mother; Marcello, her younger son; the Duchess of Brachiano; and her son, the young Duke. There are three scenes in the play remarkable for their effectiveness, or for their power in different ways--the trial scene of Vittoria, the death scene of Brachiano, and that of Vittoria. There is another--the burial of Marcello--which is pathetic as few men have known how to be so simply and with so little effort as Webster. “_Fran. de’ Med._ Your reverend mother Is grown a very old woman in two hours. I found them winding of Marcello’s corse; And there is such a solemn melody, ’Tween doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies-- Such as old grandams watching by the dead Were wont to outwear the nights with--that, believe me, I had no eyes to guide me forth the room, They were so o’ercharg’d with water. _Flam._ I will see them. _Fran. de’ Med._ ’T were much uncharity in you, for your sight Will add unto their tears. _Flam._ I will see them: They are behind the traverse; I’ll discover Their superstitious howling. [_Draws the curtain._ Cornelia, Zanche, _and three other_ Ladies _discovered winding_ Marcello’s _corse_. _A song._