To their dark end. Let us go down.

SCENE III.

An Apartment in the Castle.

Enter BEATRICE and LUCRETIA.

LUCRETIA.

LUCRETIA (her conduct throughout the scene is marked by extreme agitation).

Where was it found? What is it? It should 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.

SAVELLA.

Is it so?

Is it true, lady, that thy father did Such outrages as to awaken in thee Unfilial hate.

BEATRICE.

Not hate, 't was more than hate; This is most true, yet wherefore question me?

SAVELLA.

There is a deed demanding question done; Thou hast a secret which will answer not.

BEATRICE.

What sayest? My lord, your words are bold and rash.

SAVELLA.

I do arrest all present in the name

Of the Pope's Holiness. You must to Rome.

LUCRETIA.

O, not to Rome! Indeed we are not guilty.

BEATRICE.

Guilty! Who dares talk of guilt? My lord,
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 "Tis 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.

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. "Tis most false
That I am guilty of foul parricide;

Although I 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.

Why not to Rome, dear mother? There, as here,
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 ?

LUCRETIA.

Ha! they will bind us to the rack, and wrest
Self-accusation from our agony !

Will Giacomo be there? Orsino? Marzio?
All present; all confronted; all demanding
Each from the other's countenance the thing
Which is in every heart! O, misery!

[She faints, and is borne out.

SAVELLA.

She faints: an ill appearance this.

BEATRICE.

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 wrong
Which drags it there. Prepare yourself, my lord;
Our suite will join yours in the court below.

[Exeunt

ACT V.

SCENE 1.

An Apartment in ORSINO's Palace.

Enter ORSINO and GIACOMO.

GIACOMO.

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 piteous deed,
To kill an old and hoary-headed father.

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.

ORSINO.

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. Now, if you
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.

GIACOMO.

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

ORSINO.

That wish

Now comes a day too late. Haste; fare thee well! Hear'st thou not steps along the corridor?

[Exit GIACOMO
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!

[A 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. "Tis easy then
For a new name and for a country new,
And a new life, fashion'd on old desires,
To change the honors 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 heart's contempt
Trouble me? Have I not the power to fly

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 every other eye?

[Exit.