Does my destroyer know his danger? We
Are now no more, as once, parent and child,
But man to man; the oppressor to the oppressed
The slanderer to the slandered; foe to foe.
He has cast Nature off, who is her shield,
And Nature cast him off, who is her shame ;-
And I spurn both. It is a father's throat
Which I will shake, and say I ask mot gold;
I ask not happy years; nor memortes
Of tranquil childhood; nor home-sheltered 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 heaped on me by thee;
Or I will God can understand and pardon,
Why should I speak with man?
Ors. Be calm, dear friend.
Giac. Well, I will calmly tell you what he did.
This old Francesco Cenci, as you know,
Borrowed 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,
Conferred this office on a wretch whom thus
He paid for vilest service. I returned
With this ill news, and we sat 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 our poverty, and telling us
Such was God's scourge for disobedient sons.
And then, that I might strike him dumb with shaine.
I spoke of my wife's dowry; but he coined
A brief yet specious tale, how I had wasted
The sum in secret riot; and he saw
My wife was touched, 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 returned 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 looked, and saw that home was hell.
And to that hell will I return no more
Until mine enemy has rendered up
Atonement, or, as he gave life to me,
I will, reversing nature's law-
The compensation which thou seekest here
Will be denied.
Giac. 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 parricine,
Although I am resolved, haunts me like fear.
Ors. 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, accomplished.
Giac. Is he dead?
Ors. His grave is ready. Know that since we met Cenci has done an outrage to his daughter.
Ors. 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,
Bewildered in 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!-
Giac. It is enough. My doubts are well appeased,
There is a higher reason for the act
Than mine; there is a holier judge than I,
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 wondered 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?
Ors. 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
Beatr. 'Tis my brother's voice! You know ma un
Giac. My sister, my lost sister!
Beatr. Lost, indeed!
I see Orsino has talked 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,
Brotherly love, justice, and clemency.
And all things that make tender, hardest hearts,
Make thine hard, brother. Answer not: farewell.
A mean apartment in GIACOMO's house. GIACOMO alone. Giac. 'Tis midnight, and Orsino comes not yet.
(Thunder, and the sound of a storm)
What can the everlasting elements
Feel with a worm like man? If so, the shaft
Of mercy-winged lightning would not fall
On stones and trees. My wife and children sleep:
They are now living in unmeaning dreams:
But I must wake, still doubting if that deed
Be just which was most necessary. O
Thou unreplenished lamp! whose narrow fire
Is shaken by the wind, and on whose edge
Devouring darkness hovers! Thou small flame,
Which, as a dying pulse rises and falls,
Still flickerest.up and down, how very soon,
Did I not feed thee, wouldst thou fail, and be
As thou hadst never been! So wastes and sinks
Even now, perhaps, the life that kindled mine:
But that no power can fill with vital oil
That broken lamp of flesh. Ha! 'tis the blood
Which fed these veins, that ebbs till all is cold:
It is the form that moulded mine, that sinks
Into the white and yellow spasms of death;
It is the soul by which mine was arrayed
In God's immortal likeness, which now stands
Naked before Heaven's judgment seat!
The hour crawls on; and, when my hairs are white,
My son will then perhaps be waiting thus,
Tortured between just hate and vain remorse;
Chiding the tardy messenger of news
Like those which I expect. I almost wish
He be not dead, although my wrongs are great;
Yet 'tis Orsino's step-
Giac. Escaped!
Ors. And safe
Within Petrella. He pass'd by the spot
Appointed for the deed an hour too soon.
Giac. Are we the fools of such contingencies ? And do we waste in blind misgivings thus
The hours when we should act? Then wind and thunder, Which seemed to howl his knell, is the loud laughter With which Heaven mocks our weakness! I henceforth Will ne'er repent of aught, designed or done,
But my repentance.
Ors. See, the lamp is out.
Glac. If no remorse is ours when the dim air
Has drunk this innocent flame, why should we quail
When Cenci's life, that light by which ill spirits
See the worse deeds they prompt, shall sink for ever?
No, I am hardened.
Ors. Why, what need of this?
Who feared the pale intrusion of remorse
In a just deed? Although our first plan failed,
Doubt not but he will soon be laid to rest.
But light the lamp; let us not talk i'the dark.
Giac. (lighting the lamp.)
And yet, once quenched, I cannot thus retume
My father's life: do you not think his ghost
Might plead that argument with God?
You cannot now recal your sister's peace;
Your own extinguished years of youth and hope; Nor your wife's bitter words; nor all the taunts Which, from the prosperous, weak misfortune takes; Nor your dead mother; nor
Giac. Oh, speak no more!
I am resolved, although this very hand
Must quench the life that animated it.
Ors. There is no need of that. Listen: you know, Olimpio, the castellan of Petrella
In old Colonna's time; him whom your father
Degraded from his post; and Marzio,
That desperate wretch, whom he deprived last year
Of a reward of blood, well earned and due
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