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 thief's memory? What is his poor life?
What are a thousand lives? A parricide
Had trampled them like dust; and see, he lives!
[Turning to MARZIO.
And thou-

MARZIO.

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.

CAMILLO.

Guards, lead him nearer the lady Beatrice,
He shrinks from her regard like autumn's leaf
From the keen breath of the serenest north.

BEATRICE.

Oh, thou who tremblest on the giddy verge
Of life and death, pause ere thou answerest me ;
So mayst 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 ordered, that a father
First turned the moments of awakening life
To drops, each poisoning youth's sweet hope; and
then

Stabbed 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
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, nor thought;
Because thy hand at length did rescue her;

I with my words killed her and all her kin.”
Think, I adjure you, 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 'tis 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?

SCENE III.

The Cell of a Prison.

BEATRICE is discovered asleep on a couch.

Enter BERNARDO,

BERNARDO.

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?

BEATRICE (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.

BERNARDO.

Dear, dear sister, Would that thy dream were not a dream! O, God! How shall I tell?

BEATRICE.

What would'st thou tell, sweet brother?

BERNARDO.

Look not so calm and happy, or, even whilst
I stand considering what I have to say,
My heart will break.

BEATRICE.

See now, thou mak'st me weep: How very friendless thou wouldst be, dear child, If I were dead. Say what thou hast to say.

BERNARDO.

They have confessed; they could endure no more The tortures—

BEATRICE.

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? O 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 LUCRETIA 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 by-word? What! Will you give up these bodies to be dragged 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,

Tortures! Turn The rack henceforth into a spinning-wheel! Torture your dog, that he may tell when last He lapped the blood his master shed-not me! My pangs are of the mind, and of the heart, And of the soul; ay, of the inmost 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 oppressed-such pangs compel

My answer. What is it thou wouldst with me?

JUDGE.

Art thou not guilty of thy father's death?

BEATRICE.

Or wilt thou rather tax high-judging God
That he permitted such an act as that
Which I have suffered, and which he beheld ;
Made it unutterable, and took from it
All refuge, all revenge, all consequence,

But that which thou hast called my father's death?
Which is or is not what men call a crime,
Which either I have done, or have not done;
Say what ye will. I shall deny no more.
If ye desire it thus, thus let it be,

And so an end of all. Now do your will;
No other pains shall force another word.

Have I confessed? Is it all over now?
No hope! No refuge? O weak, wicked tongue,
Which hast destroyed me, would that thou hadst been
Cut out and thrown to dogs first! To have killed
My father first, and then betrayed my sister;
Ay, thee! the one thing innocent and pure
In this black, guilty world, to that which I
So well deserve! My wife! my little ones!
Destitute, helpless; and I-Father! God!
Canst thou forgive even the unforgiving,
When their full hearts break thus, thus ?-
[Covers his face and weeps.

LUCRETIA.

O, my child!

To what a dreadful end are we all come !
Why did I yield? Why did I not sustain
Those torments? Oh! that I were all dissolved
Into these fast and unavailing tears,
Which flow and feel not!

BEATRICE.

What 'twas weak to do, "Tis weaker to lament, once being done; Take cheer! The God who knew my wrong, and Our speedy act the angel of his wrath, [made Seems, and but seems, to have abandoned us. Let us not think that we shall die for this. Brother, sit near me; give me your firm hand, You had a manly heart. Bear up! bear up! Oh dearest lady, put your gentle head Upon my lap, and try to sleep awhile: Your eyes look pale, hollow, and overworn, With heaviness of watching and slow grief. Come, I will sing you some low, sleepy tune, Not cheerful, nor yet sad; some dull old thing, Some outworn and unused monotony, Such as our country gossips sing and spin, Till they almost forget they live: lie down! So; that will do. Have I forgot the words? Faith! they are sadder than I thought they were.

SONG.

False friend, wilt thou smile or weep
When my life is laid asleep?
Little cares for a smile or a tear,

The clay-cold corpse upon the bier;
Farewell! Heigh ho!

What is this whispers low?

There is a snake in thy smile, my dear;

And bitter poison within thy tear.

Sweet sleep! were death like to thee,

Or if thou couldst mortal be,

I would close these eyes of pain;
When to wake? Never again.
O World! farewell!
Listen to the passing bell!
It says, thou and I must part,
With a light and a heavy heart.

[The scene closes.

SCENE IV.

A Hall of the Prison.

Enter CAMILLO and BERNARDO.

CAMILLO.

The Pope is stern; not to be moved or bent.
He looked as calm and keen as is the engine
Which tortures and which kills, exempt itself
From aught that it inflicts; a marble form,
A rite, a law, a custom; not a man.
He frowned, as if to frown had been the trick
Of his machinery, on the advocates
Presenting the defences, which he tore

And threw behind, muttering with hoarse, harsh voice :

"Which among ye defended their old father Killed in his sleep?" Then to another: "Thou Dost this in virtue of thy place; 'tis well." He turned to me then, looking deprecation, And said these three words, coldly: "They must die."

BERNARDO.

And yet you left him not?

CAMILLO.

I urged him still;'
Pleading, as I could guess, the devilish wrong
Which prompted your unnatural parent's death.
And he replied, "Paolo Santa Croce
Murdered his mother yester evening,
And he is fled. Parricide grows so rife,
That soon, for some just cause no doubt, the young
Will strangle us all, dozing in our chairs.
Authority, and power, and hoary hair

Are grown crimes capital. You are my nephew,
You come to ask their pardon: stay a moment!
Here is their sentence; never see me more
Till, to the letter, it be all fulfilled."

BERNARDO.

O, God, not so! I did believe indeed
That all you said was but sad preparation
For happy news. O, there are words and looks
To bend the sternest purpose! Once I knew them,
Now I forget them at my dearest need.
What think you if I seek him out, and bathe
His feet and robe with hot and bitter tears?
Importune him with prayers, vexing his brain
With my perpetual cries, until in rage

He strike me with his pastoral cross, and trample
Upon my prostrate head, so that my blood
May stain the senseless dust on which he treads,
And remorse waken mercy? I will do it!
O, wait till I return!

[Rushes out.

BEATRICE (wildly).

My God! Can it be possible I have To die so suddenly? So young to go

Oh,

Under the obscure, cold, rotting, wormy ground!
To be nailed down into a narrow place;

To see no more sweet sunshine; hear no more
Blithe voice of living thing; muse not again
Upon familiar thoughts, sad, yet thus lost!
How fearful! to be nothing! Or to be-
What? O, where am I? Let me not go mad!
Sweet Heaven, forgive weak thoughts! If there
should be

No God, no Heaven, no Earth in the void world;
The wide, grey, lampless, deep, unpeopled world!
If all things then should be-my father's spirit,
His eye, his voice, his touch surrounding me;
The atmosphere and breath of my dead life!
If sometimes, as a shape more like himself,
Even the form which tortured me on earth,
Masked in grey hairs and wrinkles, he should come,
And wind me in his hellish arms, and fix
His eyes on mine, and drag me down, down, down!
For was he not alone omnipotent

On Earth, and ever present? even though dead,
Does not his spirit live in all that breathe,
And work for me and mine still the same ruin,
Scorn, pain, despair? Who ever yet returned
To teach the laws of death's untrodden realm!
Unjust perhaps as those which drive us now,
O, whither, whither?

LUCRETIA.

Trust in God's sweet love, The tender promises of Christ: ere night Think we shall be in Paradise.

BEATRICE.

"Tis past!

Whatever comes, my heart shall sink no more.
And yet, I know not why, your words strike chill:
How tedious, false, and cold seem all things! I
Have met with much injustice in this world;
No difference has been made by God or man,
Or any power moulding my wretched lot,
"Twixt good or evil, as regarded me.

I am cut off from the only world I know,
From light, and life, and love, in youth'ssweet prime.
You do well telling me to trust in God;

I hope I do trust in him. In whom else
Can any trust? And yet my heart is cold.

[During the latter speches GIACOMO has retired con-
versing with CAMILLO, who now goes out; GLACOMO
advances.

GIACOMO.

Know you not, mother-sister, know you not?
Bernardo even now is gone to implore
The Pope to grant our pardon.

LUCRETIA.

Child, perhaps It will be granted. We may all then live To make these woes a tale for distant years: O, what a thought! It gushes to my heart Like the warm blood.

BEATRICE.

Yet both will soon be cold: O, trample out that thought! Worse than despair, Worse than the bitterness of death, is hope: It is the only ill which can find place

Upon the giddy, sharp, and narrow hour
Tottering beneath us. Plead with the swift frost
That it should spare the eldest flower of spring:
Plead with awakening earthquake, o'er whose couch
Even now a city stands, strong, fair, and free;
Now stench and blackness yawns, like death. O,
With famine, or wind-walking pestilence, [plead❘
Blind lightning, or the deaf sea, not with man!
Cruel, cold, formal man; righteous in words,
In deeds a Cain. No, Mother, we must die:
Since such is the reward of innocent lives;
Such the alleviation of worst wrongs.

And whilst our murderers live, and hard, cold men,
Smiling and slow, walk through a world of tears
To death, as to life's sleep; 'twere just the grave
Were some strange joy for us. Come, obscure Death,
And wind me in thine all-embracing arms!
Like a fond mother hide me in thy bosom,
And rock me to the sleep from which none wake.
Live ye, who live, subject to one another
As we were once, who now-

BERNARDO rushes in.

BERNARDO.

O, horrible!

That tears, that looks, that hope poured forth in
Even till the heart is vacant and despairs, [prayer,
Should all be vain! The ministers of death
Are waiting round the doors. I thought I saw
Blood on the face of one-what if 'twere fancy?
Soon the heart's blood of all I love on earth
Will sprinkle him, and he will wipe it off
As if 'twere only rain. O, life! O, world!
Cover me! let me be no more! To see
That perfect mirror of pure innocence
Wherein I gazed, and grew happy and good,
Shivered to dust! To see thee, Beatrice,
Who made all lovely thou didst look upon-
Thee, light of life-dead, dark! while I say, sister,
To hear I have no sister; and thou, Mother,
Whose love was a bond to all our loves-
Dead! The sweet bond broken!

Enter CAMILLO and Guards.

They come ! Let me

Kiss those warm lips before their crimson leaves Are blighted-white-cold. Say farewell, before Death chokes that gentle voice! O let me hear You speak!

BEATRICE.

Farewell, my tender brother. Think
Of our sad fate with gentleness, as now:
And let mild, pitying thoughts lighten for thee
Thy sorrow's load. Err not in harsh despair,
But tears and patience. One thing more, my child:
For thine own sake be constant to the love
Thou bearest us; and to the faith that I,
Though wrapt in a strange cloud of crime and
shame,

Lived ever holy and unstained. And though
Ill tongues shall wound me, and our common

name

Be as a mark stamped on thine innocent brow
For men to point at as they pass, do thou
Forbear, and never think a thought unkind
Of those who perhaps love thee in their graves.
Being subdued. Farewell! Farewell! Farewell!
So mayest thou die as I do; fear and pain

BERNARDO.

I cannot say farewell!

CAMILLO.

O, Lady Beatrice !

BEATRICE.

Give yourself no unnecessary pain,
My dear Lord Cardinal. Here, Mother, tie
My girdle for me, and bind up this hair
In any simple knot: ay, that does well.
And yours I see is coming down. How often
Have we done this for one another! now
We shall not do it any more. My Lord,
We are quite ready. Well, 'tis very well.