CAMILLO:Nay, there is reason in your plea; ’twere hard.
GIACOMO:’Tis hard for a firm man to bear: but IHave a dear wife, a lady of high birth,Whose dowry in ill hour I lent my father _20Without a bond or witness to the deed:And children, who inherit her fine senses,The fairest creatures in this breathing world;And she and they reproach me not. Cardinal,Do you not think the Pope would interpose _25And stretch authority beyond the law?
CAMILLO:Though your peculiar case is hard, I knowThe Pope will not divert the course of law.After that impious feast the other nightI spoke with him, and urged him then to check _30Your father’s cruel hand; he frowned and said,‘Children are disobedient, and they stingTheir fathers’ hearts to madness and despair,Requiting years of care with contumely.I pity the Count Cenci from my heart; _35His outraged love perhaps awakened hate,And thus he is exasperated to ill.In the great war between the old and youngI, who have white hairs and a tottering body,Will keep at least blameless neutrality.’ _40[ENTER ORSINO.]You, my good Lord Orsino, heard those words.
ORSINO:What words?
GIACOMO:Alas, repeat them not again!There then is no redress for me, at leastNone but that which I may achieve myself,Since I am driven to the brink.—But, say, _45My innocent sister and my only brotherAre dying underneath my father’s eye.The memorable torturers of this land,Galeaz Visconti, Borgia, Ezzelin,Never inflicted on their meanest slave _50What these endure; shall they have no protection?
CAMILLO:Why, if they would petition to the PopeI see not how he could refuse it—yetHe holds it of most dangerous exampleIn aught to weaken the paternal power, _55Being, as ’twere, the shadow of his own.I pray you now excuse me. I have businessThat will not bear delay.
GIACOMO:But you, Orsino,Have the petition: wherefore not present it?
ORSINO:I have presented it, and backed it with _60My earnest prayers, and urgent interest;It was returned unanswered. I doubt notBut that the strange and execrable deedsAlleged in it—in truth they might well baffleAny belief—have turned the Pope’s displeasure _65Upon the accusers from the criminal:So I should guess from what Camillo said.
GIACOMO:My friend, that palace-walking devil GoldHas whispered silence to his Holiness:And we are left, as scorpions ringed with fire. _70What should we do but strike ourselves to death?For he who is our murderous persecutorIs shielded by a father’s holy name,Or I would—
ORSINO:What? Fear not to speak your thought.Words are but holy as the deeds they cover: _75A priest who has forsworn the God he serves;A judge who makes Truth weep at his decree;A friend who should weave counsel, as I now,But as the mantle of some selfish guile;A father who is all a tyrant seems, _80Were the profaner for his sacred name.
NOTE: _77 makes Truth edition 1821; makes the truth editions 1819, 1839.
GIACOMO:Ask me not what I think; the unwilling brainFeigns often what it would not; and we trustImagination with such fantasiesAs the tongue dares not fashion into words, _85Which have no words, their horror makes them dimTo the mind’s eye.—My heart denies itselfTo think what you demand.
ORSINO:But a friend’s bosomIs as the inmost cave of our own mindWhere we sit shut from the wide gaze of day, _90And from the all-communicating air.You look what I suspected—
GIACOMO:Spare me now!I am as one lost in a midnight wood,Who dares not ask some harmless passengerThe path across the wilderness, lest he, _95As my thoughts are, should be—a murderer.I know you are my friend, and all I dareSpeak to my soul that will I trust with thee.But now my heart is heavy, and would takeLone counsel from a night of sleepless care. _100Pardon me, that I say farewell—farewell!I would that to my own suspected selfI could address a word so full of peace.
ORSINO:Farewell!—Be your thoughts better or more bold.[EXIT GIACOMO.]I had disposed the Cardinal Camillo _105To feed his hope with cold encouragement:It fortunately serves my close designsThat ’tis a trick of this same familyTo analyse their own and other minds.Such self-anatomy shall teach the will _110Dangerous secrets: for it tempts our powers,Knowing what must be thought, and may be done.Into the depth of darkest purposes:So Cenci fell into the pit; even I,Since Beatrice unveiled me to myself, _115And made me shrink from what I cannot shun,Show a poor figure to my own esteem,To which I grow half reconciled. I’ll doAs little mischief as I can; that thoughtShall fee the accuser conscience.[AFTER A PAUSE.]Now what harm _120If Cenci should be murdered?—Yet, if murdered,Wherefore by me? And what if I could takeThe profit, yet omit the sin and perilIn such an action? Of all earthly thingsI fear a man whose blows outspeed his words _125And such is Cenci: and while Cenci livesHis daughter’s dowry were a secret graveIf a priest wins her.—Oh, fair Beatrice!Would that I loved thee not, or loving thee,Could but despise danger and gold and all _130That frowns between my wish and its effect.Or smiles beyond it! There is no escape…Her bright form kneels beside me at the altar,And follows me to the resort of men,And fills my slumber with tumultuous dreams, _135So when I wake my blood seems liquid fire;And if I strike my damp and dizzy headMy hot palm scorches it: her very name,But spoken by a stranger, makes my heartSicken and pant; and thus unprofitably _140I clasp the phantom of unfelt delightsTill weak imagination half possessesThe self-created shadow. Yet much longerWill I not nurse this life of feverous hours:From the unravelled hopes of Giacomo _145I must work out my own dear purposes.I see, as from a tower, the end of all:Her father dead; her brother bound to meBy a dark secret, surer than the grave;Her mother scared and unexpostulating _150From the dread manner of her wish achieved;And she!—Once more take courage, my faint heart;What dares a friendless maiden matched with thee?I have such foresight as assures success:Some unbeheld divinity doth ever, _155When dread events are near, stir up men’s mindsTo black suggestions; and he prospers best,Not who becomes the instrument of ill,But who can flatter the dark spirit, that makesIts empire and its prey of other hearts _160Till it become his slave…as I will do.
BEATRICE [SHE ENTERS STAGGERING AND SPEAKS WILDLY]:Reach me that handkerchief!—My brain is hurt;My eyes are full of blood; just wipe them for me…I see but indistinctly…
LUCRETIA:My sweet child,You have no wound; ’tis only a cold dewThat starts from your dear brow.—Alas! Alas! _5What has befallen?
BEATRICE:How comes this hair undone?Its wandering strings must be what blind me so,And yet I tied it fast.—Oh, horrible!The pavement sinks under my feet! The wallsSpin round! I see a woman weeping there, _10And standing calm and motionless, whilst ISlide giddily as the world reels…My God!The beautiful blue heaven is flecked with blood!The sunshine on the floor is black! The airIs changed to vapours such as the dead breathe _15In charnel pits! Pah! I am choked! There creepsA clinging, black, contaminating mistAbout me…’tis substantial, heavy, thick,I cannot pluck it from me, for it gluesMy fingers and my limbs to one another, _20And eats into my sinews, and dissolvesMy flesh to a pollution, poisoningThe subtle, pure, and inmost spirit of life!My God! I never knew what the mad feltBefore; for I am mad beyond all doubt! _25[MORE WILDLY.]No, I am dead! These putrefying limbsShut round and sepulchre the panting soulWhich would burst forth into the wandering air![A PAUSE.]What hideous thought was that I had even now?’Tis gone; and yet its burthen remains here _30O’er these dull eyes…upon this weary heart!O, world! O, life! O, day! O, misery!
LUCRETIA:What ails thee, my poor child? She answers not:Her spirit apprehends the sense of pain,But not its cause; suffering has dried away _35The source from which it sprung…
BEATRICE [FRANTICLY]:Like Parricide…Misery has killed its father: yet its fatherNever like mine…O, God! What thing am I?
LUCRETIA:My dearest child, what has your father done?
BEATRICE [DOUBTFULLY]:Who art thou, questioner? I have no father. _40[ASIDE.]She is the madhouse nurse who tends on me,It is a piteous office.[TO LUCRETIA, IN A SLOW, SUBDUED VOICE.]Do you knowI thought I was that wretched BeatriceMen speak of, whom her father sometimes halesFrom hall to hall by the entangled hair; _45At others, pens up naked in damp cellsWhere scaly reptiles crawl, and starves her there,Till she will eat strange flesh. This woful storySo did I overact in my sick dreams,That I imagined…no, it cannot be! _50Horrible things have been in this wide world,Prodigious mixtures, and confusions strangeOf good and ill; and worse have been conceivedThan ever there was found a heart to do.But never fancy imaged such a deed _55As…[PAUSES, SUDDENLY RECOLLECTING HERSELF.]Who art thou? Swear to me, ere I dieWith fearful expectation, that indeedThou art not what thou seemest…Mother!
LUCRETIA:Oh!My sweet child, know you…
BEATRICE:Yet speak it not:For then if this be truth, that other too _60Must be a truth, a firm enduring truth,Linked with each lasting circumstance of life,Never to change, never to pass away.Why so it is. This is the Cenci Palace;Thou art Lucretia; I am Beatrice. _65I have talked some wild words, but will no more.Mother, come near me: from this point of time,I am…[HER VOICE DIES AWAY FAINTLY.]
LUCRETIA:Alas! What has befallen thee, child?What has thy father done?
BEATRICE:What have I done?Am I not innocent? Is it my crime _70That one with white hair, and imperious brow,Who tortured me from my forgotten years,As parents only dare, should call himselfMy father, yet should be!—Oh, what am I?What name, what place, what memory shall be mine? _75What retrospects, outliving even despair?
LUCRETIA:He is a violent tyrant, surely, child:We know that death alone can make us free;His death or ours. But what can he have doneOf deadlier outrage or worse injury? _80Thou art unlike thyself; thine eyes shoot forthA wandering and strange spirit. Speak to me,Unlock those pallid hands whose fingers twineWith one another.
BEATRICE:’Tis the restless lifeTortured within them. If I try to speak, _85I shall go mad. Ay, something must be done;What, yet I know not…something which shall makeThe thing that I have suffered but a shadowIn the dread lightning which avenges it;Brief, rapid, irreversible, destroying _90The consequence of what it cannot cure.Some such thing is to be endured or done:When I know what, I shall be still and calm,And never anything will move me more.But now!—O blood, which art my father’s blood, _95Circling through these contaminated veins,If thou, poured forth on the polluted earth,Could wash away the crime, and punishmentBy which I suffer…no, that cannot be!Many might doubt there were a God above _100Who sees and permits evil, and so die:That faith no agony shall obscure in me.
LUCRETIA:It must indeed have been some bitter wrong;Yet what, I dare not guess. Oh, my lost child,Hide not in proud impenetrable grief _105Thy sufferings from my fear.
BEATRICE:I hide them not.What are the words which you would have me speak?I, who can feign no image in my mindOf that which has transformed me: I, whose thoughtIs like a ghost shrouded and folded up _110In its own formless horror: of all words,That minister to mortal intercourse,Which wouldst thou hear? For there is none to tellMy misery: if another ever knewAught like to it, she died as I will die, _115And left it, as I must, without a name.Death, Death! Our law and our religion call theeA punishment and a reward…Oh, whichHave I deserved?
LUCRETIA:The peace of innocence;Till in your season you be called to heaven. _120Whate’er you may have suffered, you have doneNo evil. Death must be the punishmentOf crime, or the reward of trampling downThe thorns which God has strewed upon the pathWhich leads to immortality.
BEATRICE:Ay, death… _125The punishment of crime. I pray thee, God,Let me not be bewildered while I judge.If I must live day after day, and keepThese limbs, the unworthy temple of Thy spirit,As a foul den from which what Thou abhorrest _130May mock Thee, unavenged…it shall not be!Self-murder…no, that might be no escape,For Thy decree yawns like a Hell betweenOur will and it:—O! In this mortal worldThere is no vindication and no law _135Which can adjudge and execute the doomOf that through which I suffer.[ENTER ORSINO.][SHE APPROACHES HIM SOLEMNLY.]Welcome, Friend!I have to tell you that, since last we met,I have endured a wrong so great and strange,That neither life nor death can give me rest. _140Ask me not what it is, for there are deedsWhich have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.
NOTE: _140 nor edition 1821; or editions 1819, 1839 (1st).
ORSINO:And what is he who has thus injured you?
BEATRICE:The man they call my father: a dread name.
ORSINO:It cannot be…
BEATRICE:What it can be, or not, _145Forbear to think. It is, and it has been;Advise me how it shall not be again.I thought to die; but a religious aweRestrains me, and the dread lest death itselfMight be no refuge from the consciousness _150Of what is yet unexpiated. Oh, speak!
ORSINO:Accuse him of the deed, and let the lawAvenge thee.
BEATRICE:Oh, ice-hearted counsellor!If I could find a word that might make knownThe crime of my destroyer; and that done, _155My tongue should like a knife tear out the secretWhich cankers my heart’s core; ay, lay all bare,So that my unpolluted fame should beWith vilest gossips a stale mouthed story;A mock, a byword, an astonishment:— _160If this were done, which never shall be done,Think of the offender’s gold, his dreaded hate,And the strange horror of the accuser’s tale,Baffling belief, and overpowering speech;Scarce whispered, unimaginable, wrapped _165In hideous hints…Oh, most assured redress!
ORSINO:You will endure it then?
BEATRICE:Endure!—Orsino,It seems your counsel is small profit.[TURNS FROM HIM, AND SPEAKS HALF TO HERSELF.]Ay,All must be suddenly resolved and done.What is this undistinguishable mist _170Of thoughts, which rise, like shadow after shadow,Darkening each other?
ORSINO:Should the offender live?Triumph in his misdeed? and make, by use,His crime, whate’er it is, dreadful no doubt,Thine element; until thou mayest become _175Utterly lost; subdued even to the hueOf that which thou permittest?
BEATRICE [TO HERSELF]:Mighty death!Thou double-visaged shadow! Only judge!Rightfullest arbiter!
LUCRETIA:If the lightningOf God has e’er descended to avenge… _180
ORSINO:Blaspheme not! His high Providence commitsIts glory on this earth, and their own wrongsInto the hands of men; if they neglectTo punish crime…
LUCRETIA:But if one, like this wretch,Should mock, with gold, opinion, law, and power? _185If there be no appeal to that which makesThe guiltiest tremble? If because our wrongs,For that they are unnatural, strange and monstrous,Exceed all measure of belief? O God!If, for the very reasons which should make _190Redress most swift and sure, our injurer triumphs?And we, the victims, bear worse punishmentThan that appointed for their torturer?
ORSINO:Think notBut that there is redress where there is wrong,So we be bold enough to seize it.
LUCRETIA:How? _195If there were any way to make all sure,I know not…but I think it might be goodTo…
ORSINO:Why, his late outrage to Beatrice;For it is such, as I but faintly guess,As makes remorse dishonour, and leaves her _200Only one duty, how she may avenge:You, but one refuge from ills ill endured;Me, but one counsel…
LUCRETIA:For we cannot hopeThat aid, or retribution, or resourceWill arise thence, where every other one _205Might find them with less need.
ORSINO:Then…
BEATRICE:Peace, Orsino!And, honoured Lady, while I speak, I pray,That you put off, as garments overworn,Forbearance and respect, remorse and fear,And all the fit restraints of daily life, _210Which have been borne from childhood, but which nowWould be a mockery to my holier plea.As I have said, I have endured a wrong,Which, though it be expressionless, is suchAs asks atonement; both for what is past, _215And lest I be reserved, day after day,To load with crimes an overburthened soul,And be…what ye can dream not. I have prayedTo God, and I have talked with my own heart,And have unravelled my entangled will, _220And have at length determined what is right.Art thou my friend, Orsino? False or true?Pledge thy salvation ere I speak.
ORSINO:I swearTo dedicate my cunning, and my strength,My silence, and whatever else is mine, _225To thy commands.
LUCRETIA:You think we should deviseHis death?
BEATRICE:And execute what is devised,And suddenly. We must be brief and bold.
ORSINO:And yet most cautious.
LUCRETIA:For the jealous lawsWould punish us with death and infamy _230For that which it became themselves to do.
BEATRICE:Be cautious as ye may, but prompt. Orsino,What are the means?
ORSINO:I know two dull, fierce outlaws,Who think man’s spirit as a worm’s, and theyWould trample out, for any slight caprice, _235The meanest or the noblest life. This moodIs marketable here in Rome. They sellWhat we now want.
LUCRETIA:To-morrow before dawn,Cenci will take us to that lonely rock,Petrella, in the Apulian Apennines. _240If he arrive there…
BEATRICE:He must not arrive.
ORSINO:Will it be dark before you reach the tower?
LUCRETIA:The sun will scarce be set.
BEATRICE:But I rememberTwo miles on this side of the fort, the roadCrosses a deep ravine; ’tis rough and narrow, _245And winds with short turns down the precipice;And in its depth there is a mighty rock,Which has, from unimaginable years,Sustained itself with terror and with toilOver a gulf, and with the agony _250With which it clings seems slowly coming down;Even as a wretched soul hour after hour,Clings to the mass of life; yet, clinging, leans;And leaning, makes more dark the dread abyssIn which it fears to fall: beneath this crag _255Huge as despair, as if in weariness,The melancholy mountain yawns…below,You hear but see not an impetuous torrentRaging among the caverns, and a bridgeCrosses the chasm; and high above there grow, _260With intersecting trunks, from crag to crag,Cedars, and yews, and pines; whose tangled hairIs matted in one solid roof of shadeBy the dark ivy’s twine. At noonday here’Tis twilight, and at sunset blackest night. _265
ORSINO:Before you reach that bridge make some excuseFor spurring on your mules, or loiteringUntil…
BEATRICE:What sound is that?
LUCRETIA:Hark! No, it cannot be a servant’s stepIt must be Cenci, unexpectedly _270Returned…Make some excuse for being here.
BEATRICE [TO ORSINO AS SHE GOES OUT]:That step we hear approach must never passThe bridge of which we spoke.
ORSINO:What shall I do?Cenci must find me here, and I must bearThe imperious inquisition of his looks _275As to what brought me hither: let me maskMine own in some inane and vacant smile.[ENTER GIACOMO, IN A HURRIED MANNER.]How! Have you ventured hither? Know you thenThat Cenci is from home?
NOTE: _278 hither edition 1821; thither edition 1819.
GIACOMO:I sought him here;And now must wait till he returns.
ORSINO:Great God! _280Weigh you the danger of this rashness?
GIACOMO:Ay!Does my destroyer know his danger? WeAre now no more, as once, parent and child,But man to man; the oppressor to the oppressed;The slanderer to the slandered; foe to foe: _285He has cast Nature off, which was his shield,And Nature casts him off, who is her shame;And I spurn both. Is it a father’s throatWhich I will shake, and say, I ask not gold;I ask not happy years; nor memories _290Of tranquil childhood; nor home-sheltered love;Though all these hast thou torn from me, and more;But only my fair fame; only one hoardOf peace, which I thought hidden from thy hate,Under the penury heaped on me by thee, _295Or I will…God can understand and pardon,Why should I speak with man?
ORSINO:Be calm, dear friend.
GIACOMO:Well, I will calmly tell you what he did.This old Francesco Cenci, as you know,Borrowed the dowry of my wife from me, _300And then denied the loan; and left me soIn poverty, the which I sought to mendBy holding a poor office in the state.It had been promised to me, and alreadyI bought new clothing for my ragged babes, _305And my wife smiled; and my heart knew repose.When Cenci’s intercession, as I found,Conferred this office on a wretch, whom thusHe paid for vilest service. I returnedWith this ill news, and we sate sad together _310Solacing our despondency with tearsOf such affection and unbroken faithAs temper life’s worst bitterness; when he,As he is wont, came to upbraid and curse,Mocking our poverty, and telling us _315Such was God’s scourge for disobedient sons.And then, that I might strike him dumb with shame,I spoke of my wife’s dowry; but he coinedA brief yet specious tale, how I had wastedThe sum in secret riot; and he saw _320My wife was touched, and he went smiling forth.And when I knew the impression he had made,And felt my wife insult with silent scornMy ardent truth, and look averse and cold,I went forth too: but soon returned again; _325Yet not so soon but that my wife had taughtMy children her harsh thoughts, and they all cried,‘Give us clothes, father! Give us better food!What you in one night squander were enoughFor months!’ I looked, and saw that home was hell. _330And to that hell will I return no moreUntil mine enemy has rendered upAtonement, or, as he gave life to meI will, reversing Nature’s law…
ORSINO:Trust me,The compensation which thou seekest here _335Will be denied.
GIACOMO:Then…Are you not my friend?Did you not hint at the alternative,Upon the brink of which you see I stand,The other day when we conversed together?My wrongs were then less. That word parricide, _340Although I am resolved, haunts me like fear.
ORSINO:It must be fear itself, for the bare wordIs hollow mockery. Mark, how wisest GodDraws to one point the threads of a just doom,So sanctifying it: what you devise _345Is, as it were, accomplished.
GIACOMO:Is he dead?
ORSINO:His grave is ready. Know that since we metCenci has done an outrage to his daughter.
GIACOMO:What outrage?
ORSINO:That she speaks not, but you mayConceive such half conjectures as I do, _350From her fixed paleness, and the lofty griefOf her stern brow bent on the idle air,And her severe unmodulated voice,Drowning both tenderness and dread; and lastFrom this; that whilst her step-mother and I, _355Bewildered in our horror, talked togetherWith obscure hints; both self-misunderstoodAnd darkly guessing, stumbling, in our talk,Over the truth, and yet to its revenge,She interrupted us, and with a look _360Which told, before she spoke it, he must die:…
GIACOMO:It is enough. My doubts are well appeased;There is a higher reason for the actThan mine; there is a holier judge than me,A more unblamed avenger. Beatrice, _365Who in the gentleness of thy sweet youthHast never trodden on a worm, or bruisedA living flower, but thou hast pitied itWith needless tears! Fair sister, thou in whomMen wondered how such loveliness and wisdom _370Did not destroy each other! Is there madeRavage of thee? O, heart, I ask no moreJustification! Shall I wait, Orsino,Till he return, and stab him at the door?
ORSINO:Not so; some accident might interpose _375To rescue him from what is now most sure;And you are unprovided where to fly,How to excuse or to conceal. Nay, listen:All is contrived; success is so assuredThat…
BEATRICE:’Tis my brother’s voice! You know me not?
GIACOMO:My sister, my lost sister! _380
BEATRICE:Lost indeed!I see Orsino has talked with you, andThat you conjecture things too horribleTo speak, yet far less than the truth. Now, stay not,He might return: yet kiss me; I shall know _385That then thou hast consented to his death.Farewell, farewell! Let piety to God,Brotherly love, justice and clemency,And all things that make tender hardest heartsMake thine hard, brother. Answer not…farewell. _390
GIACOMO:’Tis midnight, and Orsino comes not yet.[THUNDER, AND THE SOUND OF A STORM.]What! can the everlasting elementsFeel with a worm like man? If so, the shaftOf mercy-winged lightning would not fallOn stones and trees. My wife and children sleep: _5They are now living in unmeaning dreams:But I must wake, still doubting if that deedBe just which is most necessary. O,Thou unreplenished lamp! whose narrow fireIs shaken by the wind, and on whose edge _10Devouring darkness hovers! Thou small flame,Which, as a dying pulse rises and falls,Still flickerest up and down, how very soon,Did I not feed thee, wouldst thou fail and beAs thou hadst never been! So wastes and sinks _15Even now, perhaps, the life that kindled mine:But that no power can fill with vital oilThat broken lamp of flesh. Ha! ’tis the bloodWhich fed these veins that ebbs till all is cold:It is the form that moulded mine that sinks _20Into the white and yellow spasms of death:It is the soul by which mine was arrayedIn God’s immortal likeness which now standsNaked before Heaven’s judgement seat![A BELL STRIKES.]One! Two!The hours crawl on; and, when my hairs are white, _25My son will then perhaps be waiting thus,Tortured between just hate and vain remorse;Chiding the tardy messenger of newsLike those which I expect. I almost wishHe be not dead, although my wrongs are great; _30Yet…’tis Orsino’s step…[ENTER ORSINO.]Speak!
ORSINO:I am comeTo say he has escaped.
GIACOMO:Escaped!
ORSINO:And safeWithin Petrella. He passed by the spotAppointed for the deed an hour too soon.
GIACOMO:Are we the fools of such contingencies? _35And do we waste in blind misgivings thusThe hours when we should act? Then wind and thunder,Which seemed to howl his knell, is the loud laughterWith which Heaven mocks our weakness! I henceforthWill ne’er repent of aught designed or done _40But my repentance.
ORSINO:See, the lamp is out.
GIACOMO:If no remorse is ours when the dim airHas drank this innocent flame, why should we quailWhen Cenci’s life, that light by which ill spiritsSee the worst deeds they prompt, shall sink for ever? _45No, I am hardened.
ORSINO:Why, what need of this?Who feared the pale intrusion of remorseIn a just deed? Although our first plan failed,Doubt not but he will soon be laid to rest.But light the lamp; let us not talk i’ the dark. _50
GIACOMO [LIGHTING THE LAMP]:And yet once quenched I cannot thus relumeMy father’s life: do you not think his ghostMight plead that argument with God?
ORSINO:Once goneYou cannot now recall your sister’s peace;Your own extinguished years of youth and hope; _55Nor your wife’s bitter words; nor all the tauntsWhich, from the prosperous, weak misfortune takes;Nor your dead mother; nor…
GIACOMO:O, speak no more!I am resolved, although this very handMust quench the life that animated it. _60
ORSINO:There is no need of that. Listen: you knowOlimpio, the castellan of PetrellaIn old Colonna’s time; him whom your fatherDegraded from his post? And Marzio,That desperate wretch, whom he deprived last year _65Of a reward of blood, well earned and due?
GIACOMO:I knew Olimpio; and they say he hatedOld Cenci so, that in his silent rageHis lips grew white only to see him pass.Of Marzio I know nothing.
ORSINO:Marzio’s hate _70Matches Olimpio’s. I have sent these men,But in your name, and as at your request,To talk with Beatrice and Lucretia.
GIACOMO:Only to talk?
ORSINO:The moments which even nowPass onward to to-morrow’s midnight hour _75May memorize their flight with death: ere thenThey must have talked, and may perhaps have done,And made an end…
GIACOMO:Listen! What sound is that?
ORSINO:The house-dog moans, and the beams crack: nought else.
GIACOMO:It is my wife complaining in her sleep: _80I doubt not she is saying bitter thingsOf me; and all my children round her dreamingThat I deny them sustenance.
ORSINO:Whilst heWho truly took it from them, and who fillsTheir hungry rest with bitterness, now sleeps _85Lapped in bad pleasures, and triumphantlyMocks thee in visions of successful hateToo like the truth of day.
GIACOMO:If e’er he wakesAgain, I will not trust to hireling hands…
ORSINO:Why, that were well. I must be gone; good-night. _90When next we meet—may all be done!
NOTE:_91 may all be done!Giacomo: And all edition 1821;Giacomo: May all be done, and all edition 1819.
GIACOMO:And allForgotten: Oh, that I had never been!
CENCI:She comes not; yet I left her even nowVanquished and faint. She knows the penaltyOf her delay: yet what if threats are vain?Am I not now within Petrella’s moat?Or fear I still the eyes and ears of Rome? _5Might I not drag her by the golden hair?Stamp on her? keep her sleepless till her brainBe overworn? Tame her with chains and famine?Less would suffice. Yet so to leave undoneWhat I most seek! No, ’tis her stubborn will _10Which by its own consent shall stoop as lowAs that which drags it down.[ENTER LUCRETIA.]Thou loathed wretch!Hide thee from my abhorrence: fly, begone!Yet stay! Bid Beatrice come hither.
NOTE: _4 not now edition 1821; now not edition 1819.
LUCRETIA:Oh,Husband! I pray, for thine own wretched sake _15Heed what thou dost. A man who walks like theeThrough crimes, and through the danger of his crimes,Each hour may stumble o’er a sudden grave.And thou art old; thy hairs are hoary gray;As thou wouldst save thyself from death and hell, _20Pity thy daughter; give her to some friendIn marriage: so that she may tempt thee notTo hatred, or worse thoughts, if worse there be.
CENCI:What! like her sister who has found a homeTo mock my hate from with prosperity? _25Strange ruin shall destroy both her and theeAnd all that yet remain. My death may beRapid, her destiny outspeeds it. Go,Bid her come hither, and before my moodBe changed, lest I should drag her by the hair. _30
LUCRETIA:She sent me to thee, husband. At thy presenceShe fell, as thou dost know, into a trance;And in that trance she heard a voice which said,‘Cenci must die! Let him confess himself!Even now the accusing Angel waits to hear _35If God, to punish his enormous crimes,Harden his dying heart!’
CENCI:Why—such things are…No doubt divine revealings may be made.’Tis plain I have been favoured from above,For when I cursed my sons they died.—Ay…so… _40As to the right or wrong, that’s talk…repentance…Repentance is an easy moment’s workAnd more depends on God than me. Well…well…I must give up the greater point, which wasTo poison and corrupt her soul.[A PAUSE, LUCRETIA APPROACHES ANXIOUSLY,AND THEN SHRINKS BACK AS HE SPEAKS.]One, two; _45Ay…Rocco and Cristofano my curseStrangled: and Giacomo, I think, will findLife a worse Hell than that beyond the grave:Beatrice shall, if there be skill in hate,Die in despair, blaspheming: to Bernardo, _50He is so innocent, I will bequeathThe memory of these deeds, and make his youthThe sepulchre of hope, where evil thoughtsShall grow like weeds on a neglected tomb.When all is done, out in the wide Campagna, _55I will pile up my silver and my gold;My costly robes, paintings, and tapestries;My parchments and all records of my wealth,And make a bonfire in my joy, and leaveOf my possessions nothing but my name; _60Which shall be an inheritance to stripIts wearer bare as infamy. That done,My soul, which is a scourge, will I resignInto the hands of him who wielded it;Be it for its own punishment or theirs, _65He will not ask it of me till the lashBe broken in its last and deepest wound;Until its hate be all inflicted. Yet,Lest death outspeed my purpose, let me makeShort work and sure…
LUCRETIA [STOPS HIM]:Oh, stay! It was a feint: _70She had no vision, and she heard no voice.I said it but to awe thee.
CENCI:That is well.Vile palterer with the sacred truth of God,Be thy soul choked with that blaspheming lie!For Beatrice worse terrors are in store _75To bend her to my will.
LUCRETIA:Oh! to what will?What cruel sufferings more than she has knownCanst thou inflict?
CENCI:Andrea! Go call my daughter,And if she comes not tell her that I come.What sufferings? I will drag her, step by step, _80Through infamies unheard of among men:She shall stand shelterless in the broad noonOf public scorn, for acts blazoned abroad,One among which shall be…What? Canst thou guess?She shall become (for what she most abhors _85Shall have a fascination to entrapHer loathing will) to her own conscious selfAll she appears to others; and when dead,As she shall die unshrived and unforgiven,A rebel to her father and her God, _90Her corpse shall be abandoned to the hounds;Her name shall be the terror of the earth;Her spirit shall approach the throne of GodPlague-spotted with my curses. I will makeBody and soul a monstrous lump of ruin. _95
ANDREA:The Lady Beatrice…
CENCI:Speak, pale slave! WhatSaid she?
ANDREA:My Lord, ’twas what she looked; she said:‘Go tell my father that I see the gulfOf Hell between us two, which he may pass,I will not.’
CENCI:Go thou quick, Lucretia, _100Tell her to come; yet let her understandHer coming is consent: and say, moreover,That if she come not I will curse her.[EXIT LUCRETIA.]Ha!With what but with a father’s curse doth GodPanic-strike armed victory, and make pale _105Cities in their prosperity? The world’s FatherMust grant a parent’s prayer against his child,Be he who asks even what men call me.Will not the deaths of her rebellious brothersAwe her before I speak? For I on them _110Did imprecate quick ruin, and it came.[ENTER LUCRETIA.]Well; what? Speak, wretch!
LUCRETIA:She said, ‘I cannot come;Go tell my father that I see a torrentOf his own blood raging between us.’
CENCI [KNEELING]:God,Hear me! If this most specious mass of flesh, _115Which Thou hast made my daughter; this my blood,This particle of my divided being;Or rather, this my bane and my disease,Whose sight infects and poisons me; this devilWhich sprung from me as from a hell, was meant _120To aught good use; if her bright lovelinessWas kindled to illumine this dark world;If nursed by Thy selectest dew of loveSuch virtues blossom in her as should makeThe peace of life, I pray Thee for my sake, _125As Thou the common God and Father artOf her, and me, and all; reverse that doom!Earth, in the name of God, let her food bePoison, until she be encrusted roundWith leprous stains! Heaven, rain upon her head _130The blistering drops of the Maremma’s dew,Till she be speckled like a toad; parch upThose love-enkindled lips, warp those fine limbsTo loathed lameness! All-beholding sun,Strike in thine envy those life-darting eyes _135With thine own blinding beams!
LUCRETIA:Peace! Peace!For thine own sake unsay those dreadful words.When high God grants He punishes such prayers.
CENCI [LEAPING UP, AND THROWING HIS RIGHT HAND TOWARDS HEAVEN]:He does his will, I mine! This in addition,That if she have a child…
LUCRETIA:Horrible thought! _140
CENCI:That if she ever have a child; and thou,Quick Nature! I adjure thee by thy God,That thou be fruitful in her, and increaseAnd multiply, fulfilling his command,And my deep imprecation! May it be _145A hideous likeness of herself, that asFrom a distorting mirror, she may seeHer image mixed with what she most abhors,Smiling upon her from her nursing breast.And that the child may from its infancy _150Grow, day by day, more wicked and deformed,Turning her mother’s love to misery:And that both she and it may live untilIt shall repay her care and pain with hate,Or what may else be more unnatural. _155So he may hunt her through the clamorous scoffsOf the loud world to a dishonoured grave.Shall I revoke this curse? Go, bid her come,Before my words are chronicled in Heaven.[EXIT LUCRETIA.]I do not feel as if I were a man, _160But like a fiend appointed to chastiseThe offences of some unremembered world.My blood is running up and down my veins;A fearful pleasure makes it prick and tingle:I feel a giddy sickness of strange awe; _165My heart is beating with an expectationOf horrid joy.[ENTER LUCRETIA.]What? Speak!
LUCRETIA:She bids thee curse;And if thy curses, as they cannot do,Could kill her soul…
CENCI:She would not come. ’Tis well,I can do both; first take what I demand, _170And then extort concession. To thy chamber!Fly ere I spurn thee; and beware this nightThat thou cross not my footsteps. It were saferTo come between the tiger and his prey.[EXIT LUCRETIA.]It must be late; mine eyes grow weary dim _175With unaccustomed heaviness of sleep.Conscience! Oh, thou most insolent of lies!They say that sleep, that healing dew of Heaven,Steeps not in balm the foldings of the brainWhich thinks thee an impostor. I will go _180First to belie thee with an hour of rest,Which will be deep and calm, I feel: and then…O, multitudinous Hell, the fiends will shakeThine arches with the laughter of their joy!There shall be lamentation heard in Heaven _185As o’er an angel fallen; and upon EarthAll good shall droop and sicken, and ill thingsShall with a spirit of unnatural life,Stir and be quickened…even as I am now.
BEATRICE:They come not yet.
LUCRETIA:’Tis scarce midnight.
BEATRICE:How slowBehind the course of thought, even sick with speed,Lags leaden-footed time!
LUCRETIA:The minutes pass…If he should wake before the deed is done?
BEATRICE:O, mother! He must never wake again. _5What thou hast said persuades me that our actWill but dislodge a spirit of deep hellOut of a human form.
LUCRETIA:’Tis true he spokeOf death and judgement with strange confidenceFor one so wicked; as a man believing _10In God, yet recking not of good or ill.And yet to die without confession!…
BEATRICE:Oh!Believe that Heaven is merciful and just,And will not add our dread necessityTo the amount of his offences.
LUCRETIA:See, _15They come.
BEATRICE:All mortal things must hasten thusTo their dark end. Let us go down.
OLIMPIO:How feel you to this work?
MARZIO:As one who thinksA thousand crowns excellent market priceFor an old murderer’s life. Your cheeks are pale. _20
OLIMPIO:It is the white reflection of your own,Which you call pale.
MARZIO:Is that their natural hue?
OLIMPIO:Or ’tis my hate and the deferred desireTo wreak it, which extinguishes their blood.
MARZIO:You are inclined then to this business?
OLIMPIO:Ay, _25If one should bribe me with a thousand crownsTo kill a serpent which had stung my child,I could not be more willing.[ENTER BEATRICE AND LUCRETIA BELOW.]Noble ladies!
BEATRICE:Are ye resolved?
OLIMPIO:Is he asleep?
MARZIO:Is allQuiet?
LUCRETIA:I mixed an opiate with his drink: _30He sleeps so soundly…
BEATRICE:That his death will beBut as a change of sin-chastising dreams,A dark continuance of the Hell within him,Which God extinguish! But ye are resolved?Ye know it is a high and holy deed? _35
OLIMPIO:We are resolved.
MARZIO:As to the how this actBe warranted, it rests with you.
BEATRICE:Well, follow!
OLIMPIO:Hush! Hark! What noise is that?
MARZIO:Ha! some one comes!
BEATRICE:Ye conscience-stricken cravens, rock to restYour baby hearts. It is the iron gate, _40Which ye left open, swinging to the wind,That enters whistling as in scorn. Come, follow!And be your steps like mine, light, quick and bold.
LUCRETIA:They are about it now.
BEATRICE:Nay, it is done.
LUCRETIA:I have not heard him groan.
BEATRICE:He will not groan.
LUCRETIA:What sound is that?
BEATRICE:List! ’tis the tread of feetAbout his bed.
LUCRETIA:My God!If he be now a cold, stiff corpse…
BEATRICE:O, fear not _5What may be done, but what is left undone:The act seals all.[ENTER OLIMPIO AND MARZIO.]Is it accomplished?
MARZIO:What?
OLIMPIO:Did you not call?
BEATRICE:When?
OLIMPIO:Now.
BEATRICE:I ask if all is over?
OLIMPIO:We dare not kill an old and sleeping man;His thin gray hair, his stern and reverend brow, _10His veined hands crossed on his heaving breast,And the calm innocent sleep in which he lay,Quelled me. Indeed, indeed, I cannot do it.
NOTE: _10 reverend]reverent all editions.
MARZIO:But I was bolder; for I chid Olimpio,And bade him bear his wrongs to his own grave _15And leave me the reward. And now my knifeTouched the loose wrinkled throat, when the old manStirred in his sleep, and said, ‘God! hear, O, hear,A father’s curse! What, art Thou not our Father?’And then he laughed. I knew it was the ghost _20Of my dead father speaking through his lips,And could not kill him.
BEATRICE:Miserable slaves!Where, if ye dare not kill a sleeping man,Found ye the boldness to return to meWith such a deed undone? Base palterers! _25Cowards and traitors! Why, the very conscienceWhich ye would sell for gold and for revengeIs an equivocation: it sleeps overA thousand daily acts disgracing men;And when a deed where mercy insults Heaven… _30Why do I talk?[SNATCHING A DAGGER FROM ONE OF THEM, AND RAISING IT.]Hadst thou a tongue to say,‘She murdered her own father!’—I must do it!But never dream ye shall outlive him long!
OLIMPIO:Stop, for God’s sake!
MARZIO:I will go back and kill him.
OLIMPIO:Give me the weapon, we must do thy will. _35
BEATRICE:Take it! Depart! Return![EXEUNT OLIMPIO AND MARZIO.]How pale thou art!We do but that which ’twere a deadly crimeTo leave undone.
LUCRETIA:Would it were done!
BEATRICE:Even whilstThat doubt is passing through your mind, the worldIs conscious of a change. Darkness and Hell _40Have swallowed up the vapour they sent forthTo blacken the sweet light of life. My breathComes, methinks, lighter, and the jellied bloodRuns freely through my veins. Hark![ENTER OLIMPIO AND MARZIO.]He is…
OLIMPIO:Dead!
MARZIO:We strangled him that there might be no blood; _45And then we threw his heavy corpse i’ the gardenUnder the balcony; ‘twill seem it fell.
BEATRICE [GIVING THEM A BAG OF COIN]:Here, take this gold, and hasten to your homes.And, Marzio, because thou wast only awedBy that which made me tremble, wear thou this! _50[CLOTHES HIM IN A RICH MANTLE.]It was the mantle which my grandfatherWore in his high prosperity, and menEnvied his state: so may they envy thine.Thou wert a weapon in the hand of GodTo a just use. Live long and thrive! And, mark, _55If thou hast crimes, repent: this deed is none.
LUCRETIA:Hark, ’tis the castle horn: my God! it soundsLike the last trump.
BEATRICE:Some tedious guest is coming.
LUCRETIA:The drawbridge is let down; there is a trampOf horses in the court; fly, hide yourselves! _60
BEATRICE:Let us retire to counterfeit deep rest;I scarcely need to counterfeit it now:The spirit which doth reign within these limbsSeems strangely undisturbed. I could even sleepFearless and calm: all ill is surely past. _65
SAVELLA:Lady, my duty to his HolinessBe my excuse that thus unseasonablyI break upon your rest. I must speak withCount Cenci; doth he sleep?
LUCRETIA [IN A HURRIED AND CONFUSED MANNER]:I think he sleeps;Yet, wake him not, I pray, spare me awhile, _5He is a wicked and a wrathful man;Should he be roused out of his sleep to-night,Which is, I know, a hell of angry dreams,It were not well; indeed it were not well.Wait till day break…[ASIDE.]Oh, I am deadly sick! _10
NOTE: _6 a wrathful edition 1821; wrathful editions 1819, 1839.
SAVELLA:I grieve thus to distress you, but the CountMust answer charges of the gravest import,And suddenly; such my commission is.
LUCRETIA [WITH INCREASED AGITATION]:I dare not rouse him: I know none who dare…’Twere perilous;…you might as safely waken _15A serpent; or a corpse in which some fiendWere laid to sleep.
SAVELLA:Lady, my moments hereAre counted. I must rouse him from his sleep,Since none else dare.
LUCRETIA [ASIDE]:O, terror! O, despair![TO BERNARDO.]Bernardo, conduct you the Lord Legate to _20Your father’s chamber.
BEATRICE:’Tis a messengerCome to arrest the culprit who now standsBefore the throne of unappealable God.Both Earth and Heaven, consenting arbiters,Acquit our deed.
LUCRETIA: Oh, agony of fear! _25 Would that he yet might live! Even now I heard The Legate’s followers whisper as they passed They had a warrant for his instant death. All was prepared by unforbidden means Which we must pay so dearly, having done. _30 Even now they search the tower, and find the body; Now they suspect the truth; now they consult Before they come to tax us with the fact; O, horrible, ’tis all discovered!
BEATRICE:Mother,What is done wisely, is done well. Be bold _35As thou art just. ’Tis like a truant childTo fear that others know what thou hast done,Even from thine own strong consciousness, and thusWrite on unsteady eyes and altered cheeksAll thou wouldst hide. Be faithful to thyself, _40And fear no other witness but thy fear.For if, as cannot be, some circumstanceShould rise in accusation, we can blindSuspicion with such cheap astonishment,Or overbear it with such guiltless pride, _45As murderers cannot feign. The deed is done,And what may follow now regards not me.I am as universal as the light;Free as the earth-surrounding air; as firmAs the world’s centre. Consequence, to me, _50Is as the wind which strikes the solid rock,But shakes it not.
VOICES:Murder! Murder! Murder!
SAVELLA [TO HIS FOLLOWERS]:Go search the castle round; sound the alarm;Look to the gates, that none escape!
BEATRICE:What now?
BERNARDO:I know not what to say…my father’s dead. _55
BEATRICE:How; dead! he only sleeps; you mistake, brother.His sleep is very calm, very like death;’Tis wonderful how well a tyrant sleeps.He is not dead?
BERNARDO:Dead; murdered.
LUCRETIA [WITH EXTREME AGITATION]:Oh no, no!He is not murdered though he may be dead; _60I have alone the keys of those apartments.
SAVELLA:Ha! Is it so?
BEATRICE:My Lord, I pray excuse us;We will retire; my mother is not well:She seems quite overcome with this strange horror.
SAVELLA:Can you suspect who may have murdered him? _65
BERNARDO:I know not what to think.
SAVELLA:Can you name anyWho had an interest in his death?
BERNARDO:Alas!I can name none who had not, and those mostWho most lament that such a deed is done;My mother, and my sister, and myself. _70
SAVELLA:’Tis strange! There were clear marks of violence.I found the old man’s body in the moonlightHanging beneath the window of his chamber,Among the branches of a pine: he could notHave fallen there, for all his limbs lay heaped _75And effortless; ’tis true there was no blood…Favour me, Sir; it much imports your houseThat all should be made clear; to tell the ladiesThat I request their presence.
GUARD:We have one.
OFFICER:My Lord, we found this ruffian and another _80Lurking among the rocks; there is no doubtBut that they are the murderers of Count Cenci:Each had a bag of coin; this fellow woreA gold-inwoven robe, which, shining brightUnder the dark rocks to the glimmering moon _85Betrayed them to our notice: the other fellDesperately fighting.
SAVELLA:What does he confess?
OFFICER:He keeps firm silence; but these lines found on himMay speak.
SAVELLA:Their language is at least sincere.[READS.]‘To the Lady Beatrice. _90That the atonement of what my nature sickens to conjecture may soonarrive, I send thee, at thy brother’s desire, those who will speak anddo more than I dare write…‘Thy devoted servant, Orsino.’[ENTER LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, AND BERNARDO.]Knowest thou this writing, Lady?
BEATRICE:No.
SAVELLA:Nor thou? _95
LUCRETIA [HER CONDUCT THROUGHOUT THE SCENE IS MARKED BY EXTREME AGITATION]:Where was it found? What is it? It should beOrsino’s hand! It speaks of that strange horrorWhich never yet found utterance, but which madeBetween that hapless child and her dead fatherA gulf of obscure hatred.
SAVELLA:Is it so? _100Is it true, Lady, that thy father didSuch outrages as to awaken in theeUnfilial hate?
BEATRICE:Not hate, ’twas more than hate:This is most true, yet wherefore question me?
SAVELLA:There is a deed demanding question done; _105Thou hast a secret which will answer not.
BEATRICE:What sayest? My Lord, your words are bold and rash.
SAVELLA:I do arrest all present in the nameOf the Pope’s Holiness. You must to Rome.
LUCRETIA:O, not to Rome! Indeed we are not guilty. _110
BEATRICE:Guilty! Who dares talk of guilt? My Lord,I am more innocent of parricideThan is a child born fatherless…Dear mother,Your gentleness and patience are no shieldFor this keen-judging world, this two-edged lie, _115Which seems, but is not. What! will human laws,Rather will ye who are their ministers,Bar all access to retribution first,And then, when Heaven doth interpose to doWhat ye neglect, arming familiar things _120To the redress of an unwonted crime,Make ye the victims who demanded itCulprits? ’Tis ye are culprits! That poor wretchWho stands so pale, and trembling, and amazed,If it be true he murdered Cenci, was _125A sword in the right hand of justest God.Wherefore should I have wielded it? UnlessThe crimes which mortal tongue dare never nameGod therefore scruples to avenge.
SAVELLA:You ownThat you desired his death?
BEATRICE:It would have been _130A crime no less than his, if for one momentThat fierce desire had faded in my heart.’Tis true I did believe, and hope, and pray,Ay, I even knew…for God is wise and just,That some strange sudden death hung over him. _135’Tis true that this did happen, and most trueThere was no other rest for me on earth,No other hope in Heaven…now what of this?