Read The Complete Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley Page 51


  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

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  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

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  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

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  Stand at the judgement-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.

  END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

  ACT V

  SCENE I.—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!

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  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!

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  It was a wicked thought, a piteous deed,

  To kill an old and hoary-headed father.

  Orsino. It has turned out unluckily, in truth.

  Giacomo. To violate the sacred doors of sleep;

  To cheat kind Nature of the placid death

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  Which she prepares for overwearied age;

  To drag from Heaven an unrepentant soul

  Which might have quenched in reconciling prayers

  A life of burning crimes …

  Orsino. You cannot say

  I urged you to the deed.

  Giacomo. O, had I never

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  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 …

  Orsino. ’Tis thus

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  Men cast the blame of their unprosperous acts

  Upon the abettors of their own resolve;

  Or anything but their weak, guilty selves.

  And yet, confess the truth, it is the peril

  In which you stand that gives you this pale sickness

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  Of penitence; confess ’tis fear disguised

  From its own shame that takes the mantle now

  Of thin remorse. What if we yet were safe?

  Giacomo. How can that be? Already Beatrice,

  Lucretia and the murderer are in prison.

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  I doubt not officers are, whilst we speak,

  Sent to arrest us.

  Orsino. I have all prepared

  For instant flight. We can escape even now,

  So we take fleet occasion by the hair.

  Giacomo. Rather expire in tortures, as I may.

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  What! will you cast by self-accusing flight

  Assured conviction upon Beatrice?

  She, who alone in this unnatural work,

  Stands like God’s angel ministered upon

  By fiends; avenging such a nameless wrong

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  As turns black parricide 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

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  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.

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  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 a friend,

  Now ruined for your sake? If honest anger

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  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

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  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, ’twere best to pass

  Out at the postern, and avoid them so.

  Giacomo. O, 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

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  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

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  By some such plot of mingled good and ill

  As others weave; but there arose a Power

  Which grasped and snapped the threads of my device

  And turned it to a net of ruin … Ha!

  [A shout is heard.

  Is that my name I hear proclaimed abroad?

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  But I will pass, wrapped 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,

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  And a new life, fashioned on old desires,

  To change the honours of abandoned Rome.

  And these must be the masks of that within,

  Which must remain unaltered … Oh, I fear

  That what is past will never let me rest!

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  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

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  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

  SCENE II.—A Hall of Justice. CAMILLO, JUDGES, &c., are discovered seated; MARZIO is led in.

  First Judge. 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.

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  Marzio. 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!

  First Judge. Dare you, with lips yet white from the rack’s kiss

  Speak false? Is it so soft a questioner,

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  That you would bandy lover’s talk with it

  Till it wind out your life and soul? Away!

  Marzio. Spare me! O, spare! I will confess.

  First Judge. Then speak.

  Marzio. I strangled him in his sleep.

  First Judge. Who urged you to it?

  Marzio. His own son Giacomo, and the young prelate

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  Orsino sent me to Petrella; there

  The ladies Beatrice and Lucretia

  Tempted me with a thousand crowns, and I

  And my companion forthwith murdered him.

  Now let me die.

  First Judge. This sounds as bad as truth. Guards, there,

  Lead forth the prisoner!

  Enter LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, and GIACOMO, guarded.

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  Look upon this man;

  When did you see him last?

  Beatrice. We never saw him.

  Marzio. You know me too well, Lady Beatrice.

  Beatrice. I know thee! How? where? when?

  Marzio. You know ’twas I

  Whom you did urge with menaces and bribes

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  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.

  [BEATRICE advances towards him; he covers his face, and shrinks back.

  Oh, dart

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  The terrible resentment of those eyes

  On the dead earth! Turn them away from me!

  They wound: ’twas 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.

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  Beatrice. 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 dragged

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  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

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  As merciful God spares even the damned. Speak now

  The thing you surely know, which is that you,

  If your fine frame were stretched upon that wheel,

  And you were told: ‘Confess that you did poison

  Your little nephew; that fair blue-eyed child

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  Who was the lodestar 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,

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  Yet you would say, ‘I confess anything:’

  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?

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  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.

  Camillo. I would as soon have tortured mine own nephew

  (If he now lived he would be just her age;

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  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!

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  Judge. Well, be her purity on your head, my Lord,

  If you forbid the rack. His Holiness

  Enjoined us to pursue this monstrous crime

  By the severest forms of law; nay, even

  To stretch a point against the criminals.

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  The prisoners stand accused of parricide

  Upon such evidence as justifies

  Torture.

  Beatrice. What evidence? This man’s?

  Judge. Even so.

  Beatrice (to MARZIO). Come near. And who art thou thus chosen forth

  Out of the multitude of living men

  To kill the innocent?

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  Marzio. I am Marzio,

  Thy father’s vassal.

  Beatrice. Fix thine eyes on mine;

  Answer to what I ask.

  [Turning to the JUDGES.

  I prithee mark

  His countenance: unlike bold calumny

  Which sometimes dares not speak the thing it looks,

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  He dares not look the thing he speaks, but bends

  His gaze on the blind earth.

  (To MARZio.) What! wilt thou say

  That I did murder my own father?

  Marzio. Oh!

  Spare me! My brain swims round … I cannot speak …

  It was that horrid torture forced the truth.

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  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!

  Beatrice. My Lords, if by my nature I had been

  So stern, as to have planned the crime alleged,

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  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,

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  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

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  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.

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  (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.

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  Beatrice. O 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,

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  And so my lot was ordered, that a father

  First turned the mom
ents 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

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  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;

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  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

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  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

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  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 killed her and all her kin.’

  Think, I adjure you, what it is to slay

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  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

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  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,

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  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?

  Marzio. I here declare those whom I did accuse

  Are innocent. ’Tis I alone am guilty.