Beatrice: No

SAVELLA:Nor thou?

Where was it found? What is it? It should beOrsino's hand! It speaks of that strange horrorWhich never yet found utterance, but which madeBetween that hapless child and her dead fatherA gulf of obscure hatred.

SAVELLA:Is it so?Is it true, Lady, that thy father didSuch outrages as to awaken in theeUnfilial hate?

BEATRICE:Not hate, 'twas 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 nameOf 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 parricideThan is a child born fatherless...Dear mother,Your gentleness and patience are no shieldFor 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 doWhat ye neglect, arming familiar thingsTo the redress of an unwonted crime,Make ye the victims who demanded itCulprits? 'Tis ye are culprits! That poor wretchWho stands so pale, and trembling, and amazed,If it be true he murdered Cenci, wasA sword in the right hand of justest God.Wherefore should I have wielded it? UnlessThe crimes which mortal tongue dare never nameGod therefore scruples to avenge.

SAVELLA:You ownThat you desired his death?

BEATRICE:It would have beenA crime no less than his, if for one momentThat fierce desire had faded in my heart.'Tis true I did believe, and hope, and pray,Ay, I even knew...for God is wise and just,That some strange sudden death hung over him.'Tis true that this did happen, and most trueThere was no other rest for me on earth,No other hope in Heaven...now what of this?

SAVELLA:Strange thoughts beget strange deeds; and here are both:I judge thee not.

BEATRICE:And yet, if you arrest me,You are the judge and executionerOf that which is the life of life: the breathOf accusation kills an innocent name,And leaves for lame acquittal the poor lifeWhich is a mask without it. 'Tis most falseThat I am guilty of foul parricide;Although I must rejoice, for justest cause,That other hands have sent my father's soulTo ask the mercy he denied to me.Now leave us free; stain not a noble houseWith vague surmises of rejected crime;Add to our sufferings and your own neglectNo heavier sum: let them have been enough:Leave us the wreck we have.

SAVELLA:I dare not, Lady.I pray that you prepare yourselves for Rome:There the Pope's further pleasure will be known.

LUCRETIA:O, not to Rome! O, take us not to Rome!

BEATRICE:Why not to Rome, dear mother? There as hereOur innocence is as an armed heelTo trample accusation. God is thereAs here, and with His shadow ever clothesThe innocent, the injured and the weak;And such are we. Cheer up, dear Lady, leanOn me; collect your wandering thoughts. My Lord,As soon as you have taken some refreshment,And had all such examinations madeUpon the spot, as may be necessaryTo the full understanding of this matter,We shall be ready. Mother; will you come?

LUCRETIA:Ha! they will bind us to the rack, and wrestSelf-accusation from our agony!Will Giacomo be there? Orsino? Marzio?All present; all confronted; all demandingEach from the other's countenance the thingWhich is in every heart! O, misery!

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 graspsAnd loosens not: a snake whose look transmutesAll things to guilt which is its nutriment.She cannot know how well the supine slavesOf blind authority read the truth of thingsWhen written on a brow of guilelessness:She sees not yet triumphant InnocenceStand at the judgement-seat of mortal man,A judge and an accuser of the wrongWhich drags it there. Prepare yourself, my Lord;Our suite will join yours in the court below.