By which I suffer—no, that cannot be
Many might doubt there were a God above
Who sees and permits evil, and so die:
That faith no agony shall obscure in me.
LUCRETIA.
It must indeed have been some bitter wrong;
Yet what, I dare not guess. Oh! my lost child,
Hide not in proud impenetrable grief
Thy sufferings from my fear.
BEAt Rice.
I hide them not.
What are the words which you would have me speak?
I, who can feign no image in my mind
Of that which has transform'd me. I, whose thought
Is like a ghost shrouded and folded up
In its own formless horror. Of all words,
That minister to mortal intercourse,
Which wouldst thou hear? For there is none to tell
My misery : if another ever knew
Aught like to it, she died as I will die,
And left it, as I must, without a name.
Death ' Death ! Our law and our religion call thee
A punishment and a reward—Oh, which
Have I deserved 2
Luca etia.
The peace of innocence;
Till in your season you be call'd to heaven.
Whate'er you may have suffer'd, you have done
No evil. Death must be the punishment
Of crime, or the reward of trampling down
The thorns which God has strew'd upon the path
Which leads to immortality.
BEAT Rice.
Aye, death—
The punishment of crime. I pray thee, God,
Let me not be bewilder'd while I judge.
If I must live day after day, and keep
These limbs, the unworthy temple of thy spirit,
As a foul den from which what thou abborrest
May mock thee, unavenged—it shall not be
Self-murder—no that might be no escape,
For thy decree yawns like a Hell between
Our will and it —Oh! in this mortal world
There is no vindication and no law
Which can adjudge and execute the doom
Of that through which I suffer.

Enter Oksi No.

(She approaches him solemnly.) Welcome, Friend!
I have to tell you that, since last we met,
I have endured a wrong so great and strange,
That neither life or death can give me rest.
Ask me not what it is, for there are deeds

Which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.

on sino. And what is he who has thus injured you? for Athi ce. The man they call my father: a dread name. of six O. It cannot be— BEAttai CE.

What it can be, or not, Forbear to think. It is, and it has been ; Advise me how it shall not be again. I thought to die; but a religious awe Restrains ine, and the dread lest death itself

Might be no refuge from the consciousness
Of what is yet unexpiated. Oh, speak!
orsi No.
Accuse him of the deed, and let the law
Avenge thee.
BEAtelice.
Oh, ice-hearted counsellor!
If I could find a word that might make known
The crime of my destroyer; and that done,
My tongue should like a knife tear out the secret
Which cankers my heart's core; aye, lay all bare
So that my unpolluted fame should be
With vilest gossips a stale-mouthed story;
A mock, a bye-word, an astonishment:-
If this were done, which never shall be done,
Think of the offender's gold, his dreaded hate,
And the strange horror of the accuser's tale,
Baffling belief, and overpowering speech;
Scarce whisper'd, unimaginable, wrapt
In hideous hints—Oh, most assured redress!
ORsino.
You will endure it then
Be Athlce.
Endure?—Orsino,
It seems your counsel is small profit.
[Turns from him, and speaks half to herself.
Aye,
All must be suddenly resolved and done.
What is this undistinguishable mist
Of thofsghts, which rise, like shadow after shadow,
Darkening each other?
obsi No.
Should the offender live?
Triumph in his misdeed? and make, by use,
His crime, whate'er it is, dreadful no doubt,
Thine element; until thou mayest become
Utterly lost; subdued even to the hue
Of that which thou permittest ?
beathick (to herself).
Mighty death!
Thou double visaged shadow! Only judge!
Rightfullest arbiter!
[She retires absorbed in thought.
Luc Rett A.
If the lightning
Of God has e'er descended to avenge—
oksi No.
Blaspheme not! His high Providence commits
Its glory on this earth, and their own wrongs
Into the hands of men; if they neglect
To punish crime—
LUCRETI.A.
But if one, like this wretch,
Should mock with gold, opinion, law, and power?
If there be no appeal to that which makes
The guiltiest tremble! If because our wrongs,
For that they are, unnatural, strange and monstrous,
Exceed all measure of belief? Oh, God!
If, for the very reasons which should make
Redress most swift and sure, our injurer triumphs?
And we the victims, bear worse punishment
Than that appointed for their torturer?
ofts i No.
Think not
But that there is redress where there is wrong,
So we be bold enough to seize it.

Lucheti A. How? If there were any way to make all sure, I know not—but I think it might be good To– of sino. Why, his late outrage to Beatrice; For it is such, as I but faintly guess, As makes remorse dishonour, and leaves her Only one duty, how she may avenge: You, but one refuge from ills ill endured; Me, but one counsel— Lucerti A. For we cannot hope That aid, or retribution, or resource Will arise thence, where every other one Might find thein with less need. (Beathick advances.) oftsino. Then— Beata ice. Peace, Orsino' And, honoured Lady, while I speak, I pray, That you put off, as garments overworn, Forbearance and respect, remorse and fear, And all the fit restraints of daily life, Which have been borne from childhood, but which now Would be a mockery to my holier plea. As I have said, I have endured a wrong, Which, though it be expressionless, is such As asks atonement; both for what is past, And lest I be reserved, day after day, To load with crimes an overburthen’d soul, And be--what ye can dream not. I have pray'd To God, and I have talk'd with my own heart, And have unravell'd my entangled will, And have at length determined what is right. Art thou my friend, Orsino: False or true? Pledge thy salvation ere I speak. orasino. I swear To dedicate my cunning, and my strength, My silence, and whatever else is mine, To thy commands. Luce eti A. You think we should devise His death? BEAT mice. And excute what is devised, And suddenly. We must be brief and bold. orsino. And yet most cautious. Luchett A. For the jealous laws Would punish us with death and infamy For that which it became themselves to do. beat Rice. Becautious as ye may, but prompt. What are the means?

Orsino,

on Si No.

I know two dull, fierce outlaws, who think man's spirit as a worm's, and they Would trample out, for any slight caprice, The meanest or the noblest life. This mood Is marketable here in Rome. They sell What we now want.

Lucia F.T. A. To-morrow before dawn. Cenci will take us to that lonely rock, Petrella, in the Apulian Appenines. If he arrive there— death ice. He must not arrive. of six-o. Will it be dark before you reach the tower? Lt. Cnh Tia. The sun will scarce be set. be ATR ice. But I remember Two iniles on this side of the fort, the road Crosses a deep ravine; t is rough and narrow, And winds with short turns down the precipice; And in its depth there is a mighty rock, Which has, from unimaginable years, Sustain'd itself with terror and with toil Over a gulf, and with the agony With which it clings seems slowly coming down; Even as a wretched soul hour after hour, Clings to the mass of life; yet clinging, leans; And leaning, makes more dark the dread abyss In which it fears to fall: beneath this crag Huge as despair, as if in weariness, The melancholy mountain yawns—below, You hear but see not an impetuous torrent Raging among the caverns, and a bridge Crosses the chasm; and high above there grow, With intersecting trunks, from crag to crag, Cedars, and yews, and pines; whose tangled hair Is matted in one solid roof of shade By the dark ivy's twine. At noon-day here T is twilight and at sunset blackest night. orsi No. Before you reach that bridge make some excuse For spurring on your mules, or loitering Until— he Araice. What sound is that? Luciar.TIA. Hark! No, it cannot be a servant's step; It in ust be Cenci, unexpectedly Returned—Make some excuse for being here. beatrick (to Oasino, as she goes out). That step we hear approach must never pass The bridge of which we spoke. [Exeunt Lucheti A and BEAttice. obsino. What shall I do? Cenci must find me here, and I must bear The imperious inquisition of his looks As to what brought me hither: let me mask Mine own in some inane and vacant smile.

Enter GIA.como, in a hurried manner.

How ! Ilave you ventured thither? know you then
That Cenci is from home?
Giaco Mo.
I sought him here;
And now must wait till he returns.

ofts a No. Great God! Weigh you the danger of this rasliness?

Gi A conso. Aye! Does my destroyer know his danger? We Are now no more, as once, parent and child, But man to man; the oppressor to the oppress'd; The slanderer to the slander'd : foe to foe: He has cast Nature off, which was his shield, And Nature casts him off, who is her shame; And I spurn both. Is it a father's throat Which I will shake, and say, I ask not gold; I ask not happy years; nor memories Of tranquil childhood; nor home-shelter'd love; Though all these hast thou torn from me, and more; But only my fair fame; only one hoard Of peace, which I thought hidden from thy hate, Under the penury heap'd on me by thee, Or I will—God can understand and pardon : Why should I speak with man? 0 asino.

Be calm, dear friend.

Gi Acomo. well, I will calmly tell you what he did. This old Francesco Cenci, as you know, Borrow'd the dowry of my wife from me, And then denied the loan; and left me so In poverty, the which I sought to mend By holding a poor office in the state. It had been promised to me, and already I bought new clothing for my ragged babes, And my wife smiled; and my heart knew repose. When Cenci's intercession, as I found, Conferr'd this office on a wretch, whom thus He paid for vilest service. I return'd With this ill news, and we sate sad together Solacing our despondency with tears Of such affection and unbroken faith As temper life's worst bitterness; when he, As he is wont, came to upbraid and curse, Mocking cur poverty, and telling us Such was God's scourge for disobedient sons. And then, that I might strike him dumb with shame, I spoke of my wife's dowry; but he coin'd A brief yet specious tale, how I had wasted The sum in secret riot; and he saw My wife was touch'd, and he went smiling forth. And when I knew the impression he had made, And felt my wife insult with silent scorn My ardent truth, and look averse and cold, I went forth too: but soon return'd again ; Yet not so soon but that my wife had taught My children her harsh thoughts, and they all cried, * Give us clothes, father! Give us better food' What you in one night squander were enough For months!. I look'd, and saw that home was hell. And to that hell will I return no more Until mine enemy has render'd up Atonement, or, as he gave life to me I will, reversing nature's law— oftsino. Trust me, The compensation which thou seekest here Will be denied. Gi A cowto. Then–Are you not my friend? Did you not hint at the alternative, Upon the brink of which you see I stand,

The other day when we conversed together?
My wrongs were then less. That word parricide,
Although I am resolved, haunts me like fear.
oftsino.
It must be fear itself, for the bare word
Is hollow mockery. Mark, how wisest God
Draws to one point the threads of a just doom,
So sanctifying it: what you devise
Is, as it were, accomplish'd.
Gi ACOMo.
Is he dead
oftsu No.
His grave is ready. Know that since we met
Cenci has done an outrage to his daughter.
. G1Acomo.
What outrage 2
of sino.
That she speaks not, but you may
Conceive such half conjectures as I do,
From her fixed paleness, and the lofty grief
Of her stern brow bent on the idle air,
And her severe unmodulated voice,
Drowning both tenderness and dread; and last
From this; that whilst her step-mother and I,
Bewilder'd in our horror, talked together
With obscure hints; both self-misunderstood
And darkly guessing, stumbling, in our talk,
Over the truth, and yet to its revenge,
She interrupted us, and with a look
Which told before she spoke it, he must die.
GIA cows o.
It is enough. My doubts are well appeased;
There is a higher reason for the act
Than mine; there is a holier judge than me,
A more unblamed avenger. Beatrice,
Who in the gentleness of thy sweet youth
Hast never trodden on a worm, or bruised
A living flower, but thou hast pitied it
With needless tears! Fair sister, thou in whom
Men wonder'd how such loveliness and wisdom
Did not destroy each other! Is there made
Ravage of thee? O heart, I ask no more
Justification : Shall I wait, Orsino,
Till he return, and stab him at the door
oiasino.
Not so; some accident might interpose
To rescue him from what is now most sure;
And you are unprovided where to fly,
How to excuse or to conceal. Nay, listen :
All is contrived; success is so assured
That—
Enter BEAt Rice.

to EAtri cr. T is my brother's voice! You know me not? Giacomo. My sister, my lost sister! BEATriCE. Lost indeed! I see Orsino has talk'd with you, and That you conjecture things too horrible To speak, yet far less than the truth. Now, stay not, He might return : yet kiss me; I, shall know That then thou hast consented to his death. Farewell, Farewell! Let piety to God,