Bernardo and my wife could not be worse If dead and damned :-then, as to Beatrice- [Looking around him suspiciously.
I think they cannot hear me at that door; What if they should? And yet I need not speak, Though the heart triumphs with itself in words. O, thou most silent air, that shall not hear What now I think! Thou, pavement, which I tread Towards her chamber,-let your echoes talk Of my imperious step, scorning surprise, But not of my intent !-Andrea!
As I have said, speak to me not of love; Had you a dispensation, I have not; Nor will I leave this home of misery Whilst my poor Bernard, and that gentle lady To whom I owe life, and these virtuous thoughts, Must suffer what I still have strength to share. Alas, Orsino! All the love that once I felt for you, is turned to bitter pain. Ours was a youthful contract, which you first Broke, by assuming vows no Pope will loose. And thus I love you still, but holily, Even as a sister or a spirit might; And so I swear a cold fidelity.
And it is well perhaps we shall not marry. You have a sly, equivocating vein
That suits me not.-Ah, wretched that I am! Where shall I turn? Even now you look on me As you were not my friend, and as if you Discovered that I thought so, with false smiles Making my true suspicion seem your wrong. Ah! No, forgive me; sorrow makes me seem
Sterner than else my nature might have been; I have a weight of melancholy thoughts, And they forebode, but what can they forebode Worse than I now endure?
All will be well. Is the petition yet prepared? You know My zeal for all you wish, sweet Beatrice; Doubt not but I will use my utmost skill So that the Pope attend to your complaint.
Your zeal for all I wish ?-Ah me, you are cold! Your utmost skill-speak but one word- (Aside.) Alas!
Weak and deserted creature that I am, Here I stand bickering with my only friend! (TO ORSINO.)
This night my father gives a sumptuous feast, Orsino; he has heard some happy news From Salamanca, from my brothers there, And with this outward show of love he mocks His inward hate. 'Tis bold hypocrisy,
For he would gladlier celebrate their deaths, Which I have heard him pray for on his knees: Great God! that such a father should be mine!- But there is mighty preparation made, And all our kin, the Cenci, will be there, And all the chief nobility of Rome.
And he has bidden me and my pale mother Attire ourselves in festival array. Poor lady! She expects some happy change In his dark spirit from this act; I none. At supper I will give you the petition : Till when-farewell.
[Exit BEATRICE. I know the Pope
Will ne'er absolve me from my priestly vow But by absolving me from the revenue Of many a wealthy see; and, Beatrice,
I think to win thee at an easier rate. Nor shall he read her eloquent petition: He might bestow her on some poor relation Of his sixth-cousin, as he did her sister, And I should be debarred from all access. Then as to what she suffers from her father, In all this there is much exaggeration : Old men are testy, and will have their way; A man may stab his enemy, or his vassal, And live a free life as to wine or women, And with a peevish temper may return To a dull home, and rate his wife and children; Daughters and wives call this foul tyranny. I shall be well content, if on my conscience There rest no heavier sin than what they suffer From the devices of my love-A net From which she shall escape not. Yet I fear Her subtle mind, her awe-inspiring gaze, Whose beams anatomise me, nerve by nerve, And lay me bare, and make me blush to see My hidden thoughts.-Ah, no! a friendless girl Who clings to me, as to her only hope :- I were a fool, not less than if a panther Were panic-stricken by the antelope's eye, If she escape me.
A magnificent Hall in the Cenci Palace.
A Banquet. Enter CENCI, LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, ORSINO, CAMILLO, NOBLES.
Welcome, my friends and kinsmen ; welcome ye, Princes and Cardinals, Pillars of the church, Whose presence honours our festivity. I have too long lived like an anchorite, And, in my absence from your merry meetings, An evil word is gone abroad of me; But I do hope that you, my noble friends, When you have shared the entertainment here, And heard the pious cause for which 'tis given, And we have pledged a health or two together, Will think me flesh and blood as well as you; Sinful indeed, for Adam made all so, But tender-hearted, meek and pitiful.
It is indeed a most desired event. If, when a parent, from a parent's heart, Lifts from this earth to the great Father of all A prayer, both when he lays him down to sleep, And when he rises up from dreaming it ; One supplication, one desire, one hope, That he would grant a wish for his two sons, Even all that he demands in their regard— And suddenly, beyond his dearest hope, It is accomplished, he should then rejoice, And call his friends and kinsmen to a feast, And task their love to grace his merriment, Then honour me thus far-for I am he.
BEATRICE (to LUCRETIA).
Great God! How horrible! Some dreadful ill Must have befallen my brothers.
The tapers that did light them the dark way Are their last cost. The Pope, I think, will not Expect I should maintain them in their coffins. Rejoice with me-my heart is wondrous glad.
BEATRICE. (LUCRETIA sinks, half fainting; BEATRICE supports her.)
It is not true!-Dear lady, pray look up. Had it been true, there is a God in Heaven, He would not live to boast of such a boon. Unnatural man, thou knowest that it is false.
Ay, as the word of God; whom here I call To witness that I speak the sober truth ;- And whose most favouring providence was shown Even in the manner of their deaths. For Rocco Was kneeling at the mass, with sixteen others, When the Church fell and crushed him to a mummy; The rest escaped unhurt. Cristofano Was stabbed in error by a jealous man, Whilst she he loved was sleeping with his rival ; All in the self-same hour of the same night; Which shows that Heaven has special care of me. I beg those friends who love me, that they mark The day a feast upon their calendars.
It was the twenty-seventh of December: Ay, read the letters if you doubt my oath. [The assembly appears confused; several of the guests rise. FIRST GUEST.
Oh, horrible! I will depart.—
I do believe it is some jest; though faith, "Tis mocking us somewhat too solemnly. I think his son has married the Infanta, Or found a mine of gold in El Dorado : "Tis but to season some such news; stay, stay! I see 'tis only raillery by his smile.
CENCI (filling a bowl of wine, and lifting it up). Oh, thou bright wine, whose purple splendour leaps And bubbles gaily in this golden bowl Under the lamp-light, as my spirits do,
To hear the death of my accursed sons! Could I believe thou wert their mingled blood, Then would I taste thee like a sacrament, And pledge with thee the mighty Devil in Hell; Who, if a father's curses, as men say,
Fear not, child, Climb with swift wings after their children's souls, And drag them from the very throne of Heaven, Now triumphs in my triumph!-But thou art Superfluous; I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine to-night. Here, Andrea! Bear the bowl around.
Ah! My blood runs cold. I fear that wicked laughter round his eye, Which wrinkles up the skin even to the hair.
I do entreat you, go not, noble guests; What although tyranny and impious hate Stand sheltered by a father's hoary hair? What if 'tis he who clothed us in these limbs Who tortures them, and triumphs? What, if we, The desolate and the dead, were his own flesh, His children and his wife, whom he is bound To love and shelter? Shall we therefore find No refuge in this merciless wide world?
Oh, think what deep wrongs must have blotted out First love, then reverence in a child's prone mind, Till it thus vanquish shame and fear! Oh, think! I have borne much, and kissed the sacred hand Which crushed us to the earth, and thought its stroke
Was perhaps some paternal chastisement !
Have excused much, doubted; and when no doubt Remained, have sought by patience, love and tears, To soften him; and when this could not be, I have knelt down through the long sleepless nights, And lifted up to God, the father of all, Passionate prayers: and when these were not heard, I have still borne ;-until I meet you here, Princes and kinsmen, at this hideous feast Given at my brothers' deaths. Two yet remain, His wife remains and I, whom if ye save not, Ye may soon share such merriment again As fathers make over their children's graves. Oh! Prince Colonna, thou art our near kinsman ; Cardinal, thou art the Pope's chamberlain ; Camillo, thou art chief justiciary; Take us away!
CENCI. (He has been conversing with CAMILLO during the first part of BEATRICE's speech; he hears the conclusion, and now advances.)
I hope my good friends here
Will think of their own daughters or perhaps Of their own throats-before they lend an ear To this wild girl.
BEATRICE (not noticing the words of CENCI). Dare no one look on me? None answer? Can one tyrant overbear The sense of many best and wisest men? Or is it that I sue not in some form
Retire thou, impious man! Ay, hide thyself Where never eye can look upon thee more! Wouldst thou have honour and obedience, Who art a torturer? Father, never dream, Though thou mayst overbear this company, But ill must come of ill.-Frown not on me! Haste, hide thyself, lest with avenging looks My brothers' ghosts should hunt thee from thy seat! Cover thy face from every living eye, And start if thou but hear a human step: Seck out some dark and silent corner, there, Bow thy white head before offended God, And we will kneel around, and fervently Pray that he pity both ourselves and thee.
An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter LUCRETIA and BERNARDO.
BEATRICE (in a hurried voice).
Did he pass this way? Have you seen him, brother? Ah! no, that is his step upon the stairs; 'Tis nearer now; his hand is on the door; Mother, if I to thee have ever been
A duteous child, now save me! Thou, great God, Whose image upon earth a father is, Dost thou indeed abandon me? He comes; The door is opening now; I see his face; He frowns on others, but he smiles on me, Even as he did after the feast last night.
To see if others were as white as he? At the first word he spoke I felt the blood Rush to my heart, and fell into a trance; And when it past I sat all weak and wild; Whilst you alone stood up, and with strong words Check'd his unnatural pride; and I could see The devil was rebuked that lives in him. Until this hour thus you have ever stood Between us and your father's moody wrath Like a protecting presence: your firm mind Has been our only refuge and defence:
What can have thus subdued it? What can now Have given you that cold melancholy look, Succeeding to your unaccustomed fear?
What is it that you say? I was just thinking "Twere better not to struggle any more. Men, like my father, have been dark and bloody, Yet never-O! before worse comes of it, "Twere wise to die: it ends in that at last.
Oh, talk not so, dear child! Tell me at once What did your father do or say to you? He stayed not after that accursed feast One moment in your chamber.-Speak to me.
Oh, sister, sister, prithee, speak to us!
BEATRICE (speaking very slowly with a forced calmness).
It was one word, mother, one little word; One look, one smile.
[Wildly. Oh! he has trampled me Under his feet, and made the blood stream down My pallid cheeks. And he has given us all Ditch-water, and the fever-stricken flesh Of buffaloes, and bade us eat or starve, And we have eaten. He has made me look On my beloved Bernardo, when the rust Of heavy chains has gangrened his sweet limbs, And I have never yet despaired-but now ! What would I say?
[Recovering herself. Ah! no, 'tis nothing new. The sufferings we all share have made me wild : He only struck and cursed me as he passed; He said, he looked, he did,—nothing at all Beyond his wont, yet it disordered me. Alas! I am forgetful of my duty,
I should preserve my senses for your sake.
Then it was I whose inarticulate words Fell from my lips, who with tottering steps Fled from your presence, as you now from mine. Stay, I command you! From this day and hour Never again, I think, with fearless eye, And brow superior, and unaltered cheek, And that lip made for tenderness or scorn, Shalt thou strike dumb the meanest of mankind; Me least of all. Now get thee to thy chamber, Thou too, loathed image of thy cursed mother, [TO BERNARDO. Thy milky, meek face makes me sick with hate!
[Exeunt BEATRICE and BERNARDO,
(Aside.) So much has passed between us as must Me bold, her fearful.-Tis an awful thing [make To touch such mischief as I now conceive : So men sit shivering on the dewy bank And try the chill stream with their feet; once in- How the delighted spirit pants for joy!
LUCRETIA (advancing timidly towards him). Oh, husband! Pray forgive poor Beatrice, She meant not any ill.
Nor that young imp, whom you have taught by rote Parricide with his alphabet? Nor Giacomo? 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
Of his decree enregistered in heaven? Oh, no! You said not this?
So help me God, I never thought the things you charge me with!
If you dare speak that wicked lie again, I'll kill you. What! it was not by your counsel That Beatrice disturbed the feast last night? You did not hope to stir some enemies Against me, and escape, and laugh to scorn What every nerve of you now trembles at ? You judged that men were bolder than they are; Few dare to stand between their grave and me.
Look not so dreadfully! by my salvation I knew not aught that Beatrice designed; Nor do I think she designed any thing Until she heard you talk of her dead brothers.
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 under ground, 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, Is penetrated with the insolent light. Come, darkness! Yet, what is the day to me? And wherefore should I wish for night, who do A deed which shall confound both night and day? 'Tis she shall grope through a bewildering mist Of horror if there be a sun in heaven, She shall not dare to look upon its beams; Nor feel its warmth. Let her, then, wish for
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