Enter Lucaeri A, BEAT Rice, and BERNAado.

Knowest thou this writing, Lady ?
BEAT Rice.
No.
8A.W. F. LL.A.
Northou?
luchetia (her conduct throughout the scene is marked
by extreme agitation).
Where was it found ! What is it? It shbuld be
Orsino's hand ' It speaks of that strange horror
Which never yet found utterance, but which made
Between that hapless child and her dead father
A gulf of obscure hatred.
sawel L.A.
Is it so?
Is it true, Lady, that thy father did
Such outrages as to awaken in thee
Unfilial hate?
BEAT Ric E.
Not hate, 't was more than hate;
This is most true, yet wherefore question me?
SAVE LL.A.
There is a deed demanding question done;
Thou hast a secret which will answer not.
BEAt it ice.
My Lord, your words are bold and rash.
sAW F. Lt.A.
I do arrest all present in the name
Of the Pope's Holiness. You must to Rome.

What sayest?

LU CRETIA. O, not to Rome! Indeed we are not guilty. BEA to ice. Guilty! Who dares talk of guilt? I am more innocent of parricide Than is a child born fatherless–Dear Mother, Your gentleness and patience are no shield For this keen-judging world, this two-edged lie, Which seems, but is not. What! will human laws, Rather will ye who are their ministers, Bar all access to retribution first, And then, when Heaven doth interpose to do What ye neglect, arming familiar things To the redress of an unwonted crime, Make ye the victims who demanded it Culprits? 'T is ye are culprits! That poor wretch Who stands so pale, and trembling, and amazed, If it be true he murder'd Cenci, was A sword in the right hand of justest God. Wherefore should I have wielded it? unless The crimes which mortal tongue dare never name, God therefore scruples to avenge.

SAVELLA.

My Lord,

You own

That you desired his death
BFAttice.
It would have been

A crime no less than his, if for one moment
That fierce desire had faded in my heart.
'T is true I did believe, and hope, and pray,
Aye, I even knew—for God is wise and just,
That some strange sudden death hung over him.
'T is true that this did happen, and most true
There was no other rest for me on earth,
No other hope in Heaven—now what of this?

savella. Strange thoughts beget strange deeds; and here are both I judge thee not. peAtric E. And yet, if you arrest me, You are the judge and executioner Of that which is the life of life : the breath Of accusation kills an innocent name, And leaves for lame acquittal the poor life, Which is a mask without it. 'T is most false That I am guilty of foul parricide; Although 1 must rejoice, for justest cause, That other hands have sent my father's soul To ask the mercy he denied to me. Now leave us free : stain not a noble house With vague surmises of rejected crime; Add to our sufferings and your own neglect No heavier sum; let them have been enough: Leave us the wreck we have. SAVELLA. I dare not, Lady. I pray that you prepare yourselves for Rome: There the Pope's further pleasure will be known. Luciveti A. O, not to Rome! O, take us not to Rome! Beat Rice. Why not to Rome, dear mother? Our innocence is as an armed heel To trample accusation. God is there As here, and with his shadow ever clothes The innocent, the injured, and the weak; And such are we. Cheer up, dear Lady, lean On me; collect your wandering thoughts. My Lord, As soon as you have taken some refreshment, And had all such examinations made Upon the spot, as may be necessary To the full understanding of this matter, We shall be ready. Mother; will you come’ - LU C to Etia. Ha! they will bind us to the rack, and wrest Self-accusation from our agony! Will Giacomo be there? Orsino 2 Marzio” All present; all confronted; all demanding Each from the other's countenance the thing Which is in every heart! 0, misery! [She faints, and is borne out. SAVELLA.

There, as here,

She faints: an ill appearance this.
Be Athlch.

My Lord,
She knows not yet the uses of the world.
She fears that power is as a beast which grasps
And loosens not : a snake whose look transmutes
All things to guilt which is its nutriment.
She cannot know how well the supine slaves
Of blind authority read the truth of things
When written on a brow of guilelessness :
She sees not yet triumphant Innocence
Stand at the judgment-seat of mortal man,
A judge and an accuser of the wrons;
Which drags it there. Prepare yourself, My Lord;
Our suite will join yours in the court, below.

[Exeun!. ACT V. S C E N E i. An Apartment in Oasino's Palace. Enter Orsino and Giacomo.

c 1 A cowto. Do evil deeds thus quickly come to end? O, that the vain remorse which must chastise Crimes done, had but as loud a voice to warn As its keen sting is mortal to avenge! O, that the hour when present had cast off The mantle of its mystery, and shown The ghastly form with which it now returns When its scared game is roused, cheering the hounds of conscience to their prey! Alas! alas' It was a wicked thought, a pitcous deed, To kill an old and hoary-headed father. onst No. It has turn'd out unluckily, in truth. G.I. A conto. To violate the sacred doors of sleep; To cheat kind nature of the placid death Which she prepares for overwearied age; To drag from Heaven an unrepentant soul which might have quench'd in reconciling prayers A life of burning crimes— ofast No. You cannot say I urged you to the deed. G1.A co-fo. 0, had I never Found in thy smooth and ready countenance The mirror of my darkest thoughts; hadst thou Never with hints and questions made me look Upon the monster of my thought, until It grew familiar to desire– ons. No. 'T is thus Men cast the blame of their unprosperous acts Upon the abettors of their own resolve; or any thing but their weak, guilty selves. And yet, confess the truth, it is the peril In which you stand that gives you this pale sickness of penitence; confess, "t is fear distuised From its own shame that takes the mantle now Of thin remorse. What if we yet were safe? o, Aco M. o. How can that be? Already Beatrice, Lucretia and the murderer, are in prison. I doubt not officers are, whilst we speak, Sent to arrest us. oast No. I have all prepared For instant flight. We can escape even now, So we take fleet occasion by the hair. G1-conto. Rather expire in tortures, as I may. what' will you cast by self-accusing flight Assured conviction upon Beatrice: She, who alone in this unnatural work, Stands like God's angel minister'd upon by fiends; avenging such a nameless wrong As turns black particide to piety;

Whilst we for basest ends—I fear, Orsino,
While I consider all your words and looks,
Comparing them with your proposal now,
That you must be a villain. For what end
Could you engage in such a perilous crime,
Training me on with hints, and signs, and smiles,
Even to this gulf! Thou art no liar; No,
Thou art a lie! traitor and murderer!
Coward and slave! But, no—defend thyself; [Drawing.
Let the sword speak what the indignant tongue
Disdains to brand thee with.
of-sino.
Put up your weapon.

Is it the desperation of your fear
Makes you thus rash and sudden with your friend,
Now ruin d for your sake? If honest anger
Have moved you, know, that what I just proposed
Was but to try you. As for me, I think,
Thankless affection led me to this point,
From which, if my firm temper could repent,
I cannot now recede. Even whilst we speak
The ministers of justice wait below:
They grant me these brief moments.
Have any word of melancholy comfort
To speak to your pale wife, "t were best to pass
Out at the postern, and avoid them so.

or Aco Mo.
Oh, generous friend! How canst thou pardon me?
Would that my life could purchase thine!

onsix o'.

Now, if you

- That wish Now comes a day too late. Ilaste; fare thee well! Hear'st thou not steps along the corridor? [Exit Giacovo. I'm sorry for it; but the guards are waiting At his own gate, and such was my contrivance That I might rid me both of him and them. I thought to act a solemn comedy Upon the painted scene of this new world, And to attain my own peculiar ends By some such plot of mingled good and ill As others weave; but there arose a Power Which grasp'd and snapp'd the threads of my device, And turn'd it to a net of ruin–Ha! [4 shout is heard. Is that my name I hear proclaim'd abroad : But I will pass, wrapt in a vile disguise; Rags on my back, and a false innocence Upon my face, through the misdeeming crowd Which judges by what seems. T is easy then For a new name and for a country new, And a new life, fashion'd on old desires, To change the honours of abandon'd Rome. And these must be the masks of that within, Which must remain unalter d.-Oh, I fear That what is pass'd will never let me rest! why, when none else is conscious, but myself, of my misdeeds, should my own hearts contempt Trouble me? Have I not the power to ly My own reproaches: shall I be the slave of—what? A word! which those of this false world Employ against each other, not themselves; As men wear daggers not for self-offence. But if I am mistaken, where shall I Find the disguise to hide me from myself, As now I skulk from overy other eye'

SCEN e ii. A Hall of Justice.

CAMillo, JUDGEs, etc., are discovered seated; MAnzio is led in.

First Judic E. Accused, do you persist in your denial? I ask you, are you innocent, or guilty? I demand who were the participators In your offence? Speak truth, and the whole truth. MAnzio. My God! I did not kill him; I know nothing; Olimpio sold the robe to me from which You would infer my guilt. second Judge. Away with him! Finst Judge. Dare you, with lips yet white from the rack's kiss, Speak false? Is it so soft a questioner, That you would bandy lover's talk with it, Till it wind out your life and soul? Away! MA azio. Spare me! 0, spare! I will confess. Fiast Judge. Then speak. MARZio. I strangled him in his sleep. first Judice. Who urged you to it? MARzio. His own son Giacomo, and the young prelate Orsino sent me to Petrella; there The ladies Beatrice and Lucretia Tempted me with a thousand crowns, and I And my companion forthwith murder'd him. Now let me die. first judge. This sounds as bad as truth. Guards, there, Lead forth the prisoners'

Enter Luchetia, BEArnice, and Giacomo, guarded.

Look upon this man; When did you see him last? BEAT rice. We never saw him. MARzio. You know me too well, Lady Beatrice. beatnice. I know thee! How? where? when? MARzio. You know "t was I Whom you did urge with menaces and bribes To kill your father. When the thing was done You clothed me in a robe of woven gold And bade me thrive: how I have thriven, you see. You, my Lord Giacomo, Lady Lucretia, You know that what I speak is true. [BEArnice advances towards him; he covers his face, and shrinks back. Oh, dart The terrible resentment of those eyes On the dread earth! Turn them away from me! They wound: 't was torture forced the truth. My Lords, Having said this, let me be led to death.

beatrice. Poor wretch! I pity thee: yet stay awhile. cAMILLo. Guards, lead him not away. BEAT Rice. Cardinal Camillo, You have a good repute for gentleness And wisdom: can it be that you sit here To countenance a wicked farce like this? When some obscure, and trembling slave is dragg'd From sufferings which might shake the sternest heart, And bade to answer, not as he believes, But as those may suspect or do desire, Whose questions thence suggest their own reply: And that in peril of such hideous torments As merciful God spares even the damn'd. Speak now The thing you surely know, which is that you, If your fine frame were stretch'd upon that wheel, And you were told, Confess that you did poison Your little nephew : that fair blue-eyed child Who was the load-star of your life; and though All see, since his most swift and piteous death, That day and night, and heaven and earth, and time, And all the things hoped for or done therein Are changed to you, through your exceeding grief, Yet you would say, I confess any thing— And beg from your tormentors, like that slave, The refuge of dishonourable death. I pray thee, Cardinal, that thou assert My innocence. cAMillo (much moved). What shall we think, my lords? Shame on these tears! I thought the heart was frozen Which is their fountain. I would pledge my soul That she is guiltless. JUDGe. Yet she must be tortured. cAMil, Lo. I would as soon have tortured mine own nephew (If he now lived, he would be just her age; His hair, too, was her colour, and his eyes Like hers in shape, but blue, and not so deep): As that most perfect image of God's love That ever came sorrowing upon the earth. She is as pure as speechless infancy! JUDGE. Well, be her purity on your head, my lord, If you forbid the rack. His Holiness Enjoin'd us to pursue this monstrous crime By the severest forms of law; nay even To stretch a point against the criminals. The prisoners stand accused of parricide, Upon such evidence as justifies Torture. be Attice. What evidence? This man's? JUDGe. Even so. beat aice (to MARzio). Come near. And who art thou, thus chosen forth Out of the multitude of living inen To kill the innocent? M.A. f. 210. I am Marzio, Thy father's vassal.

be Athl ce. Fix thine eves on mine; Answer to what I ask. I prithee mark His countenance: unlike bold calumny Which sometimes dares not speak the thing it looks, He dares not look the thing he speaks, but bends His gaze on the blind earth. (To Manzio.) What! wilt thou say That I did murder my own father? M.A. azio. Oh! Spare me! My brain swims round—I cannot speak— It was that horrid torture forced the truth. Take me away! Let her not look on me ! I am a guilty miserable wretch; I have said all I know; now, let me die! he At Rice. My Lords, if by my nature I had been So stern, as to have plann'd the crime alleged, Which your suspicions dictate to this slave, And the rack makes him utter, do you think I should have left this two-edged instrument Of my misdeed; this man, this bloody knife With my own name engraven on the heft, Lying unsheathed amid a world of foes, For my own death? That with such horrible need For deepest silence, I should have neglected So trivial a precaution, as the making His tomb the keeper of a secret written On a thiefs memory? What is his poor life” What are a thousand lives? A parricide Had tram pled them like dust; and see, he lives!

[Turning to Manzio.

And thou–
M. Anzio.
Oh, spare me! Speak to me no more!
That stern yet piteous look, those solemn tones,
Wound worse than torture.
(To the Judges.) I have told it all;
For pity's sake lead me away to death.
cawiil. Lo.
Guards, lead him nearer the lady Beatrice :
He shrinks from her regard like autumn's leaf
From the keen breath of the serenest north.
be at nick.
Oh, thou who tremblest on the giddy verge
of life and death, pause ere thou answerest me;
so mayest thou answer God with less dismay:
What evil have we done thee? I, alas !

Have lived but on this earth a few sad years,
And so my lot was order'd that a father
First turn'd the moments of awakening life
To drops, each poisoning youth's sweet hope; and then
Stabb'd with one blow my everlasting soul :
And my untainted fame; and even that peace
which sleeps within the core of the heart's heart,
But the wound was not mortal; so my hate
Became the only worship I could lift
To our great Father, who in pity and love,
Armed thee, as thou dost say, to cut him off;
And thus his wrong becomes my accusation:
And art thou the accuser? If thou hopest
Mercy in heaven, show justice upon earth:
worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart.
If thou hast done murders, made thy life's path

Turning to the Judges. g g

Over the trampled laws of God and man,
Rush not before thy Judge, and say: “My Maker,
I have done this and more ; for there was one
Who was most pure and innocent on earth;
And because she endured what never any
Guilty or innocent endured before :
Because her wrongs could not be told, not thought;
Because thy hand at length did rescue her;
I with my words kill'd her and all her kin."
Think, I adjure vou, what it is to slay
The reverence living in the minds of men
Towards our ancient house, and stainless fame !
Think what it is to strangle infant pity,
Cradled in the belief of guileless looks,
Till it become a crime to suffer. Think
What "t is to blot with infamy and blood
All that which shows like innocence, and is,
Hear me, great God! I swear, most innocent,
So that the world lose all discrimination
Between the sly, fierce, wild regard of guilt,
And that which now compels thee to reply
To what I ask: Am I, or am I not
A parricide?
MARZio.
Thou art not!
Judge.
What is this?
Manzio.
I here declare those whom I did accuse
Are innocent. T is I alone am guilty.
Jungk.
Drag him away to torments; let them be
Subtle and long drawn out, to tear the folds
Of the heart's in most cell. Unbind him not
Till he confess.
matzio.
Torture me as ye will:
A keener pain has wrung a higher truth
From my last breath. She is most innocent!
Bloodhounds, not men, glut yourselves well with me!
I will not give you that fine piece of nature
To rend and ruin.
[Exit Manzio, guarded.
cAMi LLo.
What say ye now, my Lords?
ju is ar.
Let tortures strain the truth till it be white
As snow thrice-sifted by the frozen wind.
cAMillo.
Yet stain'd with blood.
judge (to Brathick).
Know you this paper, lady?
beatai ce.
Entrap me not with questions. Who stands here
As my accuser? Ha! will thou be he,
who art my judge? Accuser, witness, judge,
what, all in one? Here is Orsino's name;
where is Orsino? Let his eye meet mine.
what means this scrawl? Alas' ye know not what,
And therefore on the chance that it may be
Some evil, will ye kill us?

Enter an Officer

orricka. Marzio's dead.

What did he say?
officea.

Nothing. As soon as we
Had bound him on the wheel, he smiled on us,
As one who baffles a deep adversary;
And holding his breath, died.

Judge.
There remains nothing
But to apply the question to those prisoners,
Who yet remain stubborn.
cavitt-Lo.
I overrule
Further proceedings, and in the behalf
Of these most innocent and noble persons
will use my interest with the Holy Father.
Judo, e.
Let the Pope's pleasure then be done. Meanwhile
Conduct these culprits each to separate cells;
And be the engines ready : for this night
If the Pope's resolution be as grave,
Pious and just as once, I'll wring the truth
Out of those nerves and sinews, groan by groan.
[Exeunt.

S C E N E lii. • The Cell of a Prison. BEArnice is discovered asleep on a couch. Enter Bean Ando.

praxa roo. How gently slumber rests upon her face' Like the last thoughts of some day sweetly spent Closing in night and dreams, and so prolonged. After such torments as she bore last night, How light and soft her breathing comes Ah, me! Methinks that I shall never sleep again. But I must shake the heavenly dew of rest From this sweet folded flower, thus—wake! awake! What, sister, canst thou sleep? beat Rice (awaking). I was just dreaming That we were all in Paradise. Thou knowest This cell seems like a kind of Paradise After our father's presence. BERNA ado. Dear, dear sister, would that thy dream were not a dream! 0, God! How shall I tell? for at Rice. What wouldst thou tell, sweet brother? era N.A to do. Look not so calm and happy, or, even whilst I stand considering what I have to say, My heart will break. be atrice. See now, thou makest me weep: tiow very friendless thou wouldst be, dear child, if I were dead. Say what thou hast to say. been Arno. They have confess'd; they could endure no more The tortures— BEAT Rice. Ha! What was there to confess? They must have told some weak and wicked lie

| To flatter their tormentors. Have they said

That they were guilty? 0 white innocence!
That thou shouldst wear the mask of guilt to hide
Thine awful and serenest countenance

| From those who know thee not :

Enter Judge with LucasT1A and Giacomo, guarded.

Ignoble hearts!

For some brief spasms of pain, which are at least
As mortal as the limbs through which they pass,
Are centuries of high splendour laid in dust?
And that eternal honour which should live
Sunlike, above the reek of mortal fame,
Changed to a mockery and a bye-word? what :
Will you give up these bodies to be dragg'd
At horses heels, so that our hair should sweep
The footsteps of the vain and senseless crowd,
Who, that they may make our calamity
Their worship and their spectacle, will leave
The churches and the theatres as void
As their own hearts? Shall the light multitude
Fling, at their choice, curses or faded pity,
Sad funeral flowers to deck a living corpse,
Upon us as we pass to pass away,
And leave—what memory of our having been
Infamy, blood, terror, despair? O thou,
Who wert a mother to the parentless,
Kill not thy child! Let not her wrongs kill thee!
Brother, lie down with me upon the rack,
And let us each be silent as a corpse;
It soon will be as soft as any grave.
T is but the falsehood it can wring from fear
Makes the rack cruel.

Gt Aconio. They will tear the truth Even from thee at last, those cruel pains: For pity's sake say thou art guilty now. Lucraert A. 0, speak the truth! Let us all quickly die; And after death, God is our judge, not they: He will have mercy on us. Bronx attoo. If indeed It can be true, say so, dear sister mine; And then the Pope will surely pardon you, And all be well. JUDGe. Confess, or I will warp Your limbs with such keen tortures— state ice. Tortures: turn The rack henceforth into a spinning-wheel : Torture your dog, that he may tell when last He lapp'd the blood his master shed—not me! My pangs are of the mind, and of the heart, | And of the soul; ave, of the in most soul, | Which weeps within tears as of burning gall | To see, in this ill world where none are true, | My kindred false to their deserted selves, | And with considering all the wretched life Which I have lived, and its now wretched end, And the small justice shown by Heaven and Earth To me or mine; and what a tyrant thou art, And what slaves these; and what a world we make, | The oppressor and the oppress'd—such pangs compel My answer. What is it thou wouldst with me!