Alas, Orsino! all the love that once I felt for you is turned to bitter pain. Our's was a youthful contract, which you first Even as a sister or a spirit might; And it is well perhaps we should not marry. That suits me not. Ah, wretched that I am! Ors. All will be well. Is the petition yet prepared? You know Beatr. Your zeal for all I wish.-Ah me, you are cold! Your utmost skill-speak but one word Weak and deserted creature that I am, (aside.) Alas! Here I stand bickering with my only friend! (To Orsino) This night my father gives a sumptuous feast, Orsino; he has heard some happy news From Salamanca, from my brothers there, For he would gladlier celebrate their deaths, And all our kin, the Cenci, will be there, And he has bidden me and my pale mother Poor lady! she expects some happy change I will give you the petition: farewell. At supper Till when Ors. Farewell. (Exit Beatrice.) I know the Pope Will ne'er absolve me from my priestly vow 1 shall be well content, if on my conscience There rest no heavier sin than what they suffer From the devices of my love-A net rom which she shall escape not. Yet I fear Her subtle mind, her awe-inspiring gaze, Whose beams anatomize me, nerve by nerve, SCENE III. A magnificent Hall in the Cenci Palace. (Exit.) A Banquet. Enter CENCI, LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, ORSINO, CAMILLO, NOBLES. Cen. Welcome, my friends and kinsmen; welcome, ye Princes and Cardinals, pillars of the church, Whose presence honours our festivity. I have too long lived like an anchorite, But I hope that you, my noble friends, When you have shared the entertainment here, But tender-hearted, meek, and pitiful. 1. Guest. In truth, my Lord, you seem too light of heart, Too sprightly and companionable a man, To act the deeds that rumour pins on you. (To his companion.) I never saw such blithe and open cheer In any eye! 2. Guest. Some most desired event, In which we all demand a common joy, Has brought us hither; let us hear it, Count. Cen. If, when a parent, from a parent's heart, Must have befallen my brothers. Lucr. Fear not, child; He speaks too frankly. Beatr. Ah! my blood runs cold. I fear that wicked laughter round his eye, Which wrinkles up the skin even to the hair. Cen. Here are the letters brought from Salamanca; Beatrice, read them to your mother. God, I thank thee! In one night didst thou perform, By ways inscrutable, the thing I sought. My disobedient and rebellious sons Are dead!—Why, dead!-What means this change of cheer? You hear me not:-I tell you they are dead; And they will need no food nor raiment more: The tapers that did light them the dark way Beatr. (Lucretia sinks, half fainting; Beatrice It is not true!-Dear lady, pray look up. Had it been true, there is a God in Heaven, Cen. Ay, as the word of God; whom here I call Was stabbed in error by a jealous man, Whilst she he loved was sleeping with his rival; Which shows that Heaven has special care of me. It was the twenty-seventh of December: Ay, read the letters if you doubt my oath. (The assembly appears confused; several of the guests rise.) 1. Guest. Oh, horrible! I will depart. 2. Guest. And I. 3. Guest. No, stay! I do believe it is some jest; though, faith, 'Tis mocking us somewhat too solemnly. I think his son has married the Infanta, Or found a mine of gold in El Dorado; "Tis but to season some such news; stay, stay! Cen. (Filling a bowl of wine, and lifting it up.) |