| |
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. | 5 |
| O, God Almighty, do thou look upon us, | |
| We have no other friend but only thee! | |
| Yet weep not; though I love you as my own, | |
| I am not your true mother. | |
| Bernardo. O more, more, | 10 |
| Than ever mother was to any child, | |
| That have you been to me! Had he not been | |
| My father, do you think that I should weep! | |
| Lucretia. Alas! Poor boy, what else couldst thou have done? | |
| |
Enter BEATRICE | 15 |
| 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 in on the door; | |
| Mother, if I to thee have ever been | |
| A duteous child, now save me! Thou, great God, | 20 |
| 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. | 25 |
| 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 | |
| Has sent back your petition thus unopened. [Giving a paper. | 30 |
| 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 | 35 |
| Wrapped 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. | 40 |
| 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? | 45 |
| At the first word he spoke I felt the blood | |
| Rush to my heart, and fell into a trance; | |
| And when it passed I sat all weak and wild; | |
| Whilst you alone stood up, and with strong words | |
| Checked his unnatural pride; and I could see | 50 |
| The devil was rebuked that lives in him. | |
| Until this hour thus have you ever stood | |
| Between us and your father’s moody wrath | |
| Like a protecting presence: your firm mind | |
| Has been our only refuge and defence. | 55 |
| What 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. | 60 |
| Men, like my father, have been dark and bloody, | |
| Yet never—Oh! Before worse comes of it | |
| ’Twere wise to die: it ends in that at last. | |
| Lucretia. O talk not so, dear child! Tell me at once | |
| What did your father do or say to you? | 65 |
| He stayed not after that accursèd feast | |
| One moment in your chamber.—Speak to me. | |
| Bernardo. O 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 | 70 |
| 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 | 75 |
| On my beloved Bernardo, when the rust | |
| Of heavy chains has gangrened his sweet limbs, | |
| And I have never yet despaired—but now! | |
| What could I say? [Recovering herself. | |
| Ah! No, ’tis nothing new. | 80 |
| 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, | 85 |
| I should preserve my senses for your sake. | |
| Lucretia. Nay, Beatrice! have courage, my sweet girl, | |
| If any one despairs it should be I | |
| Who loved him once, and now must live with him | |
| Till God in pity call for him or me. | 90 |
| For you may, like your sister, find some husband, | |
| And smile, years hence, with children round your knees; | |
| Whilst I, then dead, and all this hideous coil | |
| Shall be remembered only as a dream. | |
| Beatrice. Talk not to me, dear lady, of a husband. | 95 |
| Did you not nurse me when my mother died? | |
| Did you not shield me and that dearest boy? | |
| And had we any other friend but you | |
| In infancy, with gentle words and looks, | |
| To win our father not to murder us? | 100 |
| And shall I now desert you? May the ghost | |
| Of my dead Mother plead against my soul | |
| If I abandon her who filled the place | |
| She left, with more, even, than a mother’s love! | |
| Bernardo. And I am of my sister’s mind. Indeed | 105 |
| I would not leave you in this wretchedness, | |
| Even though the Pope should make me free to live | |
| In some blithe place, like others of my age, | |
| With sports, and delicate food, and the fresh air. | |
| O never think that I will leave you, Mother! | 110 |
| Lucretia. My dear, dear children! | |
| |
Enter CENCI suddenly | |
| Cenci. What, Beatrice here! | |
| Come hither! [She shrinks back, and covers her face. | |
| Nay, hide not your face, ’tis fair; | 115 |
| Look up! Why, yesternight you dared to look | |
| With disobedient insolence upon me, | |
| Bending a stern and an inquiring brow | |
| On what I meant; whilst I then sought to hide | |
| That which I came to tell you—but in vain. | 120 |
| Beatrice (wildly, staggering towards the door). O that the earth would gape! Hide me, O God! | |
| Cenci. Then it was I whose inarticulate words | |
| Fell from my lips, and who with tottering steps | |
| Fled from your presence, as you now from mine. | |
| Stay, I command you—from this day and hour | 125 |
| 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! | 130 |
| 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 past between us as must make | |
| Me bold, her fearful.—’Tis an awful thing | |
| To touch such mischief as I now conceive: | 135 |
| 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). O husband! Pray forgive poor Beatrice. | |
| She meant not any ill. | 140 |
| Cenci. Nor you perhaps? | |
| Nor that young imp, whom you have taught by rote | |
| Parricide with his alphabet? Nor Giacomo? | |
| Nor those two must unnatural sons, who stirred | |
| Enmity up against me with the Pope? | 145 |
| 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, | 150 |
| And you would be the witness?—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, | 155 |
| And he had sentenced me, and there were none | |
| But you to be the executioners | |
| Of this decree enregistered in heaven? | |
| Oh, no! You said not this? | |
| Lucretia. So help me God, | 160 |
| 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 | |
| That Beatrice disturbed the feast last night? | |
| You did not hope to stir some enemies | 165 |
| 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. | |
| Lucretia. Look not so dreadfully! By my salvation | 170 |
| I knew not aught that Beatrice designed; | |
| Nor do I think she designed any thing | |
| Until she heard you talk of her dead brothers. | |
| Cenci. Blaspheming liar! You are damned for his! | |
| But I will take you where you may persuade | 175 |
| 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: | 180 |
| ’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. | 185 |
| 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, | 190 |
| 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? | 195 |
| ’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 night; | |
| The act I think shall soon extinguish all | 200 |
| For me: I bear a darker deadlier gloom | |
| Than the earth’s shade, or interlunar air, | |
| Or constellations quenched in murkiest cloud, | |
| In which I walk secure and unbeheld | |
| Towards my purpose.—Would that it were done! [Exit. | 205 |
| |
