Doubt not but I will use my utmost skill
So that the Pope attend to your complaint.
Beatrice. Your zeal for all I wish;—Ah me, you are cold!
Your utmost skill … speak but one word … (aside) Alas!
45Weak 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,
50And with this outward shew 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!
55But 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.
60Poor 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.
Orsino. Farewell. (Exit BEATRICE.)
I know the Pope
Will ne’er absolve me from my priestly vow
65But 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
70Of 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;
75A 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.
80I 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,
85Whose beams anatomize 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
90Were panic-stricken by the Antelope’s eye,
If she escape me. [Exit.
SCENE III.—A magnificent Hall in the Cenci Palace. A Banquet. Enter CENCI, LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, ORSINO, CAMILLO, NOBLES.
Cenci. 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,
5And 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,
10And 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.
First Guest. In truth, my Lord, you seem too light of heart,
15Too sprightly and companionable a man,
To act the deeds that rumour pins on you.
(To his companion) I never saw such blythe and open cheer
In any eye!
Second Guest. Some most desired event,
In which we all demand a common joy,
20Has brought us hither; let us hear it, Count.
Cenci. 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,
25And 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,
30It 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
35Must have befallen my brothers.
Lucretia. Fear not, Child,
He speaks too frankly.
Beatrice. Ah! My blood runs cold.
I fear that wicked laughter round his eye
Which wrinkles up the skin even to the hair.
Cenci. Here are the letters brought from Salamanca;
40Beatrice, read them to your mother. God!
I thank thee! In one night didst thou perform,
By ways inscrutable, the thing I sought.
My disobedient and rebellious sons
Are dead!—Why, dead!—What means this change of cheer?
45You hear me not, I tell you they are dead;
And they will need no food or raiment more:
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.
50Rejoice with me—my heart is wondrous glad.
[LUCRETIA sinks, half fainting; BEATRICE supports her.
Beatrice. 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.
55 Cenci. Aye, as the word of God; whom here I call
To witness that I speak the sober truth;—
And whose most favouring Providence was shewn
Even in the manner of their deaths. For Rocco
Was kneeling at the mass, with sixteen others,
60When 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;
65Which shews 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:
Aye, read the letters if you doubt my oath.
[The assembly appears confused; several of the guests rise.
70 First Guest. Oh, horrible! I will depart.—
Second Guest. And I.—
Third Guest. No, stay!
I do believe it is some jest; tho’ faith!
’Tis mocking us somewhat too solemnly.
I think his son has married the Infanta,
Or found a mine of gold in El Dorado;
75’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,
80To 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,
85Climb 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.
90Here, Andrea! Bear the bowl around.
A Guest (rising). Thou wretch!
Will none among this noble company
Check the abandoned villain?
Camillo. For God’s sake
Let me dismiss the guests! You are insane,
Some ill will come of this.
Second Guest. Seize, silence him!
95 First Guest. I will!
Third Guest. And I!
Cenci (Addressing those who rise with a threatening gesture).
Who moves? Who speaks?
(Turning to the Company.) ’tis nothing,
Enjoy yourselves.—Beware! For my revenge
Is as the sealed commission of a king
That kills, and none dare name the murderer.
[The Banquet is broken up; several of the Guests are departing.
Beatrice. I do entreat you, go not, noble guests;
100What, 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,
105His 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
110Till it thus vanquish shame and fear! O, 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
115Remained, 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
120I 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
125As 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
130Will 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?
135Or is it that I sue not in some form
Of scrupulous law, that ye deny my suit?
Oh, God! That I were buried with my brothers!
And that the flowers of this departed spring
Were fading on my grave! And that my father
140Were celebrating now one feast for all!
Camillo. A bitter wish for one so young and gentle;
Can we do nothing?—
Colonna. Nothing that I see.
Count Cenci were a dangerous enemy:
Yet I would second any one.
A Cardinal. And I.
145 Cenci. Retire to your chamber, insolent girl!
Beatrice. Retire thou, impious man! Aye hide thyself
Where never eye can look upon thee more!
Wouldst thou have honour and obedience
Who art a torturer? Father, never dream
150Though 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,
155And start if thou but hear a human step:
Seek 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.
160 Cenci. My friends, I do lament this insane girl
Has spoilt the mirth of our festivity.
Good night, farewell; I will not make you longer
Spectators of our dull domestic quarrels.
Another time.— [Exeunt all but CENCI and BEATRICE.
My brain is swimming round;
165Give me a bowl of wine!
(To BEATRICE) Thou painted viper!
Beast that thou art! Fair and yet terrible!
I know a charm shall make thee meek and tame,
Now get thee from my sight! [Exit BEATRICE.
Here, Andrea,
Fill up this goblet with Greek wine. I said
170I would not drink this evening; but I must;
For, strange to say, I feel my spirits fail
With thinking what I have decreed to do.—
[Drinking the wine.
Be thou the resolution of quick youth
Within my veins, and manhood’s purpose stern,
175And age’s firm, cold, subtle villainy;
As if thou wert indeed my children’s blood
Which I did thirst to drink! The charm works well;
It must be done; it shall be done, I swear! [Exit.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II
SCENE I.—An apartment in the Cenci Palace. Enter LUCRETIA and BERNARDO.
Lucretia. Weep not, my gentle boy; he struck but me
Who have borne deeper wrongs. In truth, if he
Had killed me, he had done a kinder deed.
O, God Almighty, do thou look upon us,
5We have no other friend but only thee!
Yet weep not; though I love you as my own
I am not your true mother.
Bernardo. Oh more, more,
Than ever mother was to any child,
That have you been to me! Had he not been
10My father, do you think that I should weep?
Lucretia. Alas! Poor boy, what else couldst thou have done?
[Enter BEATRICE.
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;
15Mother, 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;
20He frowns on others, but he smiles on me,
Even as he did after the feast last night.
[Enter a Servant.
Almighty God, how merciful thou art!
’Tis but Orsino’s servant.—Well, what news?
Servant. My master bids me say, the Holy Father
25Has sent back your petition thus unopened. [Giving a paper.
And he demands at what hour ’twere secure
To visit you again?
Lucretia. At the Ave Mary. [Exit Servant.
So, daughter, our last hope has failed; Ah me!
How pale you look; you tremble, and you stand
30Wrapped in some fixed and fearful meditation,
As if one thought were over strong for you:
Your eyes have a chill glare; O, dearest child!
Are you gone mad? If not, pray speak to me.
Beatrice. You see I am not mad; I speak to you.
35 Lucretia. You talked of something that your father did
After that dreadful feast? Could it be worse
Than when he smiled, and cried, ‘My sons are dead!’
And every one looked in his neighbour’s face
To see if others were as white as he?
40At 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
Checked his unnatural pride; and I could see
45The 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:
50What can have thus subdued it? What can now
Have given you that cold melancholy look,
Succeeding to your unaccustomed fear?
Beatrice. What is it that you say? I was just thinking
’Twere better not to struggle any more.
55Men, 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.
Lucretia. Oh, talk not so, dear child! Tell me at once
What did your father do or say to you?
60He stayed not after that accursed feast
One moment in your chamber.—Speak to me.
Bernardo. Oh, sister, sister, prithee, speak to us!
Beatrice (speaking very slowly with a forced calmness).
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