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She comes not; yet I left her even now
Vanquished and faint. She knows the penalty
Of 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 ?
Might I not drag her by the golden hair ?
Stamp on her ? Keep her sleepless till her brain
Be overworn ? Tame her with chains and famiue ?
Less would suffice. Yet so to leave undone
What I most seek! No, 'tis her stubborn will
Which by its own consent shall stoop as low
As that which drags it down.


Thou loathed wretch!
Hide thee from my abhorrence; Fly, begone !
Yet stay! Bid Beatrice come hither.


Husband! I pray for thine own wretched sake
Heed what thou dost. A man who walks like thee
Thro' crimes, and thro' 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,
Pity thy daughter; give her to some friend
In marriage: so that she may tempt thee not
To hatred, or worse thoughts, if worse there be.

What! like her sister who has found a home
To mock my hate from with prosperity ?
Strunge ruin shall destroy both her aud thee



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And all that yet remain. My death 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.

She sent me to thee, husband. At thy presence
She 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
"If God, to punish his enormous crimes,
"Harden his dying heart!”


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.—Aye... so... As to the right or wrong that's talk. . . repentance. . . Repentance is an easy moment's work And more depends on God than me. Well... well... I must give up the greater point, which was

To poison and corrupt her soul. (A pause ; Lucretia approaches anxiously, and then shrinks

back as he speaks.)

One, two;
Aye. . . Rocco and Cristofano my curse
Strangled: and Giacomo, I think, will find
Life a worse Hell than that beyond the grave:
Beatrice shall, if there be skill in hate,
Die in despair, blaspheming: to Bernardo,
He is so innocent, I will bequeath
The memory of these deeds, and make his youth
The sepulchre of hope, where evil thoughts
Shall grow like weeds on a neglected tomb.
When all is done, out in the wide Campagna,
I 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 leave
Of my possessions nothing but my name;




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Which shall be an inheritance to strip
Its wearer bare as infamy. That done,
My soul, which is a scourge, will I resign
Into the hands of him who wielded it;
Be it for its own punishment or theirs,
He will not ask it of me till the lash
Be broken in its last and deepest wound;
Until its hate be all inflicted. Yet,
Lest death outspeed my purpose, let me make
Short work and sure.

LUCRETIA. (Stops him)

Oh, stay! It was a feint:
She had no vision, and she heard no voice.
I said it but to awe thee.


That is well.
Vile palterer with the sacred truth of God,
Be thy soul choked with that blaspheming lic!
For Beatrice worse terrors are in store
To bend her to my will.


Oh! to what will ? What cruel sufferings more than she has known Canst thou inflict ?


Andrea! Go call my daughter,
And if she comes not tell her that I come.
What sufferings ? I will drag her, step by step,
Thro' infamies unheard of among men:
She shall stand shelterless in the broad noon
Of public scorn, for acts blazoned abroad,
One among which shall be ...What? Canst thou
She shall become, (for what she most abhors
Shall have a fascination to entrap
Her loathing will), to her own conscious self
All she appears to others; and when dead,
As she shall die unshrived and unforgiven,
A rebel to her father and her God,
Her corpse shall be abandoned to the hounds;
Her name shall be the terror of the earth;





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Her spirit shall approach the throne of God
Plague-spotted with my curses. I will make
Body and soul a monstrous lump of ruin.


ANDREA. The lady Beatrice ...


Speak, pale slave! What Said she?

ANDREA. My Lord, 'twas what she looked; she said: "Go tell my father that I see the gulph 'Of Hell between us two, which he may pass, "I will not.”

(Exit ANDREA.)


Go thou quick, Lucretia,
Tell her to come; yet let her understand
Her coming is consent: and say, moreover,
That if she come not I will curse her. (Exit LUCRETIA.)

With what but with a father's curse doth God
Panic-strike armed victory, and make pale
Cities in their prosperity? The world's Father
Must grant a parent's prayer against his child
Be he who asks even what men call me.
Will not the deaths of her rebellious brothers
Awe her before I speak? For I on them
Did imprecate quick ruin, and it came.

Well; what ? Speak, wretch!


She said, “I cannot come; “Go tell my father that I see a torrent “Of his own blood raging between us." CENCI (kneeling).

God! Hear me! If this most specious mass of flesh, Which 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 devil
Which sprung from me as from a hell, was meant
To aught good use; if her bright loveliness
Was kindled to illumine this dark world;
If nursed by thy selectest dew of love
Such virtues blossom in her as should make
The peace of life, I pray thee for my sake,
As thou the common God and Father art
Of her, and me, and all; reverse that doom !
Earth, in the name of God, let her food be
Poison, until she be encrusted round
With leprous stains! Heaven, rain upon her head
The blistering drops of the Maremma's dew,
Till she be speckled like a toad; parch up
Those love-enkindled lips, warp those fine limbs
To loathèd lameness! All beholding sun,
Strike in thine envy those life-darting eyes
With thine own blinding beams!


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 ...


Horrible thought !

That if she ever have a child; and thou,
Quick Nature! I adjure thee by thy God,
That thou be fruitful in her, and encrease
And multiply, fulfilling his command,
And my deep imprecation! May it be
A hideous likeness of herself, that as
From a distorting mirror, she may see
Her image mixed with what she most abhors,
Smiling upon her from her nursing breast.



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