Oh, there are words and looks _30
To bend the sternest purpose!
To bend the sternest purpose!
Shelley
4:
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. _5
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 _10
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; _15
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 _20
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; _25
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.
Oh, there are words and looks _30
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 _35
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! _40
Oh, wait till I return!
[RUSHES OUT. ]
CAMILLO:
Alas, poor boy!
A wreck-devoted seaman thus might pray
To the deaf sea.
[ENTER LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, AND GIACOMO, GUARDED. ]
BEATRICE:
I hardly dare to fear
That thou bring'st other news than a just pardon.
CAMILLO:
May God in heaven be less inexorable _45
To the Pope's prayers than he has been to mine.
Here is the sentence and the warrant.
BEATRICE [WILDLY]:
O
My God! Can it be possible I have
To die so suddenly? So young to go
Under the obscure, cold, rotting, wormy ground!
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. _5
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 _10
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; _15
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 _20
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; _25
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.
Oh, there are words and looks _30
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 _35
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! _40
Oh, wait till I return!
[RUSHES OUT. ]
CAMILLO:
Alas, poor boy!
A wreck-devoted seaman thus might pray
To the deaf sea.
[ENTER LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, AND GIACOMO, GUARDED. ]
BEATRICE:
I hardly dare to fear
That thou bring'st other news than a just pardon.
CAMILLO:
May God in heaven be less inexorable _45
To the Pope's prayers than he has been to mine.
Here is the sentence and the warrant.
BEATRICE [WILDLY]:
O
My God! Can it be possible I have
To die so suddenly? So young to go
Under the obscure, cold, rotting, wormy ground!
