Beatrice. 'Tis my brother's voice! Giacomo. My sister, my lost sister! Of her stern brow bent on the idle That you conjecture things too horrible To speak, yet far less than the truth. Now, stay not, air, And her severe unmodulated voice, Drowning both tenderness and dread; He might return: yet kiss me; I shall From this; that whilst her step-mother That then thou hast consented to his and I, Bewildered in our horror, talked together With obscure hints; both self-misunderstood And darkly guessing, stumbling, in our Over the truth, and yet to its revenge, Giacomo. It is enough. My doubts There is a higher reason for the act me, A more unblamed avenger. Beatrice, Who in the gentleness of thy sweet youth death. Farewell, farewell! Let piety to God, Brotherly love, justice and clemency, And all things that make tender hardest hearts Make thine hard, brother. Answer not. . . farewell. [Exeunt severally. SCENE II.-A MEAN APARTMENT IN [Thunder, and the sound of a storm. What! can the everlasting elements Feel with a worm like man? If so the shaft Hast never trodden on a worm, or bruised Of mercy-winged lightning would not in whom children sleep: My wife and Men wondered how such loveliness and They are now living in unmeaning Is shaken by the wind, and on whose And do we waste in blind misgivings thus The hours when we should act? Then wind and thunder, edge Devouring darkness hovers! Thou small flame, Which, as a dying pulse rises and falls, Still flickerest up and down, how very soon, Which seemed to howl his knell, is the loud laughter With which Heaven mocks our weakness! I henceforth Did I not feed thee, wouldst thou fail Will ne'er repent of aught designed or and be done As thou hadst never been! So wastes But my repentance. and sinks Even now, perhaps, the life that kindled mine: But that no power can fill with vital oil That broken lamp of flesh. Ha! 'tis the blood Which fed these veins that ebbs till all is cold: It is the form that moulded mine that sinks Into the white and yellow spasms of death: It is the soul by which mine was arrayed In God's immortal likeness which now stands Naked before Heaven's judgment seat! (A bell strikes.) One! Two! But light the lamp; let us not talk i' the dark. The hours crawl on; and when my hairs are white, My son will then perhaps be waiting thus, Giacomo (lighting the lamp). And yet once quenched I cannot thus relume Tortured between just hate and vain My father's life: do you not think his Olimpio, the castellan of Petrella Degraded from his post? And Marzio, Of a reward of blood, well earned and Old Cenci so, that in his silent rage men, But in your name, and as at your request, The moments Of her delay: yet what if threats are which even now Pass onward to to-morrow's midnight hour May memorise their flight with death: ere then vain? Am I not now within Petrella's moat? They must have talked, and may perhaps Stamp on her? Keep her sleepless till sound is that? Orsino. The house-dog moans, and the beams crack: nought else. Giacomo. It is my wife complaining in her sleep: I doubt not she is saying bitter things What I most seek! No, 'tis her stubborn will Which by its own consent shall stoop as low Of me; and all my children round her As that which drags it down. Pity thy daughter; give her to some Ay... Rocco and Cristofano my curse Strangled and Giacomo, I think, will find friend In marriage: so that she may tempt thee not To hatred, or worse thoughts, if worse there be. Life a worse Hell than that beyond the grave: Beatrice shall, if there be skill in hate, Cenci. What! like her sister who Die in despair, blaspheming to Ber has found a home To mock my hate from with prosperity? Strange ruin shall destroy both her and thee nardo, He is so innocent, I will bequeath And all that yet remain. My death The sepulchre of hope, where evil may be Rapid, her destiny outspeeds it. Go, Bid her come hither, and before my mood Be changed, lest I should drag her by the hair. Lucretia. She sent me to thee, husband. At thy presence She fell, as thou dost know, into a trance; thoughts Shall grow like weeds on a neglected tomb. When all is done, out in the wide I will pile up my silver and my gold; And make a bonfire in my joy, and leave And in that trance she heard a voice Of my possessions nothing but my name; Which shall be an inheritance to strip That done, which said, "Cenci must die! Let him confess Its wearer bare as infamy. himself! Even now the accusing Angel waits to hear My soul, which is a scourge, will I resign Into the hands of him who wielded it; If God, to punish his enormous crimes, Be it for its own punishment or theirs, Harden his dying heart!" As to the right or wrong that's talk . . . She had no vision, and she heard no What sufferings? She shall stand shelterless in the broad Must grant a parent's prayer against his Of public scorn, for acts blazoned Be he who asks even what men call me. Will not the deaths of her rebellious abroad, One among which shall be . . . What? brothers Awe her before I speak? For I on them She shall become (for what she most Did imprecate quick ruin, and it came. All she appears to others; and when Go tell my father that I see a torrent Of his own blood raging between us. Cenci (kneeling). dead, As she shall die unshrived and un forgiven, A rebel to her father and her God, hounds; God! Hear me ! If this most specious mass of flesh, Which thou hast made my daughter; this my blood, Her name shall be the terror of the This particle of my divided being; earth; Or rather, this my bane and my disease, Her spirit shall approach the throne of Whose sight infects and poisons me; this devil God Plague-spotted with my curses. I will Which sprung from me as from a hell, Body and soul a monstrous lump of ruin. To aught good use; if her bright loveliEnter ANDREA. Andrea. The Lady Beatrice. Cenci. slave! What Said she? ness Was kindled to illumine this dark world; Speak, pale If nursed by thy selectest dew of love Such virtues blossom in her as should make Andrea. My Lord, 'twas what she The peace of life, I pray thee for my |
