So men sit shivering on the dewy bank, What every nerve of you now trembles And try the chill stream with their feet; once in .. How the delighted spirit pants for joy! at? You judged that men were bolder than they are; Lucretia (advancing timidly towards Few dare to stand between their grave him). O husband! Pray forgive poor Beatrice. She meant not any ill. Cenci. Nor you perhaps? Nor that young imp, whom you have taught by rote Parricide with his alphabet? Giacomo? and me. Lucretia. Look not so dreadfully! By my salvation I knew not aught that Beatrice designed; Nor do I think she designed any thing Nor Until she heard you talk of her dead brothers. Nor those two most unnatural sons, who stirred Enmity up against me with the Pope? Whom in one night merciful God cut off: Innocent lambs! They thought not any ill. You were not here conspiring? You said nothing Of how I might be dungeoned as a madman; Or be condemned to death for some offence, And you would be the witnesses? This failing, How just it were to hire assassins, or Put sudden poison in my evening drink? Or smother me when overcome by wine? Seeing we had no other judge but God, And he had sentenced me, and there were none But you to be the executioners Lucretia. So help me God, I never thought the things you charge me with! Cenci. If you dare speak that wicked lie again I'll kill you. What! It was not by your counsel Cenci. Blaspheming liar! You are damned for this! But I will take you where you may persuade The stones you tread on to deliver you: For men shall there be none but those who dare All things-not question that which I command. On Wednesday next I shall set out: you know That savage rock, the Castle of Petrella: 'Tis safely walled, and moated round about: Its dungeons underground, and its thick towers Never told tales; though they have heard and seen What might make dumb things speak.— Why do you linger? Make speediest preparation for the journey! [Exit LUCRETIA. The all-beholding sun yet shines; I hear A busy stir of men about the streets; I see the bright sky through the window panes: It is a garish, broad, and peering day; Loud, light, suspicious, full of eyes and ears, And every little corner, nook, and hole That Beatrice disturbed the feast last Is penetrated with the insolent light. night? You did not hope to stir some enemies Come darkness! Yet, what is the day to me? Against me, and escape, and laugh to And wherefore should I wish for night, A deed which shall confound both night Have a dear wife, a lady of high birth, and day? Whose dowry in ill hour I lent my father 'Tis she shall grope through a bewilder- Without a bond or witness to the deed: And children, who inherit her fine ing mist Of horror: if there be a sun in heaven senses, The fairest creatures in this breathing And she and they reproach me not. pose For me: I bear a darker deadlier gloom Do you not think the Pope would inter- And stretch authority beyond the law? The Pope will not divert the course of law. Your father's cruel hand; he frowned "Children are disobedient, and they sting Their fathers' hearts to madness and Requiting years of care with contumely. And thus he is exasperated to ill. In the great war between the old and young I, who have white hairs and a tottering body, Enter ORSINO. Been trained in no highborn necessities Will keep at least blameless neutrality." If you, Cardinal Camillo, were reduced at once From thrice-driven beds of down, and delicate food, An hundred servants, and six palaces, To that which nature doth indeed require?— You, my good Lord Orsino, heard those Orsino. What words? not again! Alas, repeat them There then is no redress for me, at least self, Since I am driven to the brink.-But, say, Camillo. Nay, there is reason in My innocent sister and my only brother your plea; 'twere hard. Are dying underneath my father's eye. Giacomo. 'Tis hard for a firm man to The memorable torturers of this land, bear: but I Galeaz Visconti, Borgia, Ezzelin, Orsino. I have presented it, and Is as the inmost cave of our own mind Where we sit shut from the wide gaze of day, backed it with My earnest prayers, and urgent interest; It was returned unanswered. not I doubt But that the strange and execrable deeds Alleged in it-in truth they might well baffle Any belief-have turned the Pope's displeasure Upon the accusers from the criminal: So I should guess from what Camillo said. I know you are my friend, and all I dare Giacomo. My friend, that palace- Speak to my soul that will I trust with walking devil Gold Has whispered silence to his Holiness: And we are left, as scorpions ringed with fire. What should we do but strike ourselves to death? For he who is our murderous persecutor Is shielded by a father's holy name, Or I would(Stops abruptly.) Orsino. What? Fear not to speak your thought. Words are but holy as the deeds they Cover: A priest who has forsworn the God he serves; A judge who makes Truth weep at his decree; thee. A friend who should weave counsel, To analyse their own and other minds. as I now, Such self-anatomy shall teach the will Dangerous secrets: for it tempts our Till weak imagination half powers, Knowing what must be thought, and may be done, Into the depth of darkest purposes: Show a poor figure to my own esteem, do I'll As little mischief as I can; that thought Shall fee the accuser conscience. (After a pause.) longer possesses Yet much Will I not nurse this life of feverous hours: From the unravelled hopes of Giacomo I must work out my own dear purposes. I see, as from a tower, the end of all: Her father dead; her brother bound to me By a dark secret, surer than the grave; Now what harm And she !-Once more take courage my If Cenci should be murdered ?—Yet, if murdered, Wherefore by me? And what if I could take The profit, yet omit the sin and peril And such is Cenci: and while Cenci lives His daughter's dowry were a secret grave If a priest wins her.-Oh, fair Beatrice! Would that I loved thee not, or loving thee Could but despise danger and gold and all That 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, So when I wake my blood seems liquid fire; And if I strike my damp and dizzy head My hot palm scorches it: her very My eyes are full of blood; just wipe name, But spoken by a stranger, makes my heart Sicken and pant; and thus unprofitably I clasp the phantom of unfelt delights That starts from your dear brow. Alas! Alas! What has befallen? Beatrice. undone? Lucretia. What ails thee, my poor child? She answers not : Her spirit apprehends the sense of pain, How comes this hair But not its cause; suffering has dried away Its wandering strings must be what Beatrice (franticly). blind me so, And yet I tied it fast.-O, horrible! The pavement sinks under my feet! The walls Spin round! I see a woman weeping there, And standing calm and motionless, whilst I fide... Like Parri Slide giddily as the world reels. . . . (Aside.) She is the madhouse nurse who My God! tends on me, The beautiful blue heaven is flecked It is a piteous office. with blood! The sunshine on the floor is black! The air (To LUCRETIA, in a slow, subdued voice.) Do you know I thought I was that wretched Beatrice Is changed to vapours such as the dead Men speak of, whom her father some Shut round and sepulchre the panting As . . . (Pauses, suddenly recollecting |
