ENTER CENCI, LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, ORSINO, CAMILLO, NOBLES. by Percy Bysshe Shelley: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
This scene from Shelley's verse drama *The Cenci* depicts the monstrous Count Cenci throwing a banquet to celebrate the deaths of two of his own sons, shocking his guests and prompting his daughter Beatrice to plead for protection from the assembled nobles.
The poem
CENCI: 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, And in my absence from your merry meetings _5 An evil word is gone abroad of me; But I do hope that you, my noble friends, When you have shared the entertainment here, And heard the pious cause for which ’tis given, And we have pledged a health or two together, _10 Will think me flesh and blood as well as you; Sinful indeed, for Adam made all so, But tender-hearted, meek and pitiful. FIRST GUEST: In truth, my Lord, you seem too light of heart, Too sprightly and companionable a man, _15 To act the deeds that rumour pins on you. [TO HIS COMPANION.] I never saw such blithe and open cheer In any eye! SECOND GUEST: Some most desired event, In which we all demand a common joy, Has brought us hither; let us hear it, Count. _20 CENCI: It is indeed a most desired event. If when a parent from a parent’s heart Lifts from this earth to the great Father of all A prayer, both when he lays him down to sleep, And when he rises up from dreaming it; _25 One supplication, one desire, one hope, That he would grant a wish for his two sons, Even all that he demands in their regard— And suddenly beyond his dearest hope It is accomplished, he should then rejoice, _30 And call his friends and kinsmen to a feast, And task their love to grace his merriment,— Then honour me thus far—for I am he. BEATRICE [TO LUCRETIA]: Great God! How horrible! some dreadful ill Must have befallen my brothers. LUCRETIA: Fear not, child, _35 He speaks too frankly. BEATRICE: Ah! My blood runs cold. I fear that wicked laughter round his eye, Which wrinkles up the skin even to the hair. CENCI: Here are the letters brought from Salamanca; Beatrice, read them to your mother. God! _40 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; _45 And they will need no food or raiment more: The tapers that did light them the dark way Are their last cost. The Pope, I think, will not Expect I should maintain them in their coffins. Rejoice with me—my heart is wondrous glad. _50 [LUCRETIA SINKS, HALF FAINTING; BEATRICE SUPPORTS HER.] BEATRICE : It is not true!—Dear Lady, pray look up. Had it been true, there is a God in Heaven, He would not live to boast of such a boon. Unnatural man, thou knowest that it is false. CENCI: Ay, as the word of God; whom here I call _55 To witness that I speak the sober truth;— And whose most favouring Providence was shown Even in the manner of their deaths. For Rocco Was kneeling at the mass, with sixteen others, When the church fell and crushed him to a mummy, _60 The rest escaped unhurt. Cristofano Was stabbed in error by a jealous man, Whilst she he loved was sleeping with his rival; All in the self-same hour of the same night; Which shows that Heaven has special care of me. _65 I beg those friends who love me, that they mark The day a feast upon their calendars. 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.] FIRST GUEST: Oh, horrible! I will depart— SECOND GUEST: And I.— THIRD GUEST: No, stay! _70 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! _75 I see ’tis only raillery by his smile. CENCI [FILLING A BOWL OF WINE, AND LIFTING IT UP]: Oh, thou bright wine whose purple splendour leaps And bubbles gaily in this golden bowl Under the lamplight, as my spirits do, To hear the death of my accursed sons! _80 Could I believe thou wert their mingled blood, Then would I taste thee like a sacrament, And pledge with thee the mighty Devil in Hell, Who, if a father’s curses, as men say, Climb with swift wings after their children’s souls, _85 And drag them from the very throne of Heaven, Now triumphs in my triumph!—But thou art Superfluous; I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine to-night. Here, Andrea! Bear the bowl around. A GUEST [RISING]: Thou wretch! _90 Will none among this noble company Check the abandoned villain? CAMILLO: For God’s sake, Let me dismiss the guests! You are insane, Some ill will come of this. SECOND GUEST: Seize, silence him! FIRST GUEST: I will! THIRD GUEST: And I! CENCI [ADDRESSING THOSE WHO RISE WITH A THREATENING GESTURE]: Who moves? Who speaks? [TURNING TO THE COMPANY.] ’tis nothing, _95 Enjoy yourselves.—Beware! For my revenge Is as the sealed commission of a king That kills, and none dare name the murderer. [THE BANQUET IS BROKEN UP; SEVERAL OF THE GUESTS ARE DEPARTING.] BEATRICE: I do entreat you, go not, noble guests; What, although tyranny and impious hate _100 Stand sheltered by a father’s hoary hair? What if ’tis he who clothed us in these limbs Who tortures them, and triumphs? What, if we, The desolate and the dead, were his own flesh, His children and his wife, whom he is bound _105 To love and shelter? Shall we therefore find No refuge in this merciless wide world? O think what deep wrongs must have blotted out First love, then reverence in a child’s prone mind, Till it thus vanquish shame and fear! O think! _110 I have borne much, and kissed the sacred hand Which crushed us to the earth, and thought its stroke Was perhaps some paternal chastisement! Have excused much, doubted; and when no doubt Remained, have sought by patience, love, and tears _115 To soften him, and when this could not be I have knelt down through the long sleepless nights And lifted up to God, the Father of all, Passionate prayers: and when these were not heard I have still borne,—until I meet you here, _120 Princes and kinsmen, at this hideous feast Given at my brothers’ deaths. Two yet remain, His wife remains and I, whom if ye save not, Ye may soon share such merriment again As fathers make over their children’s graves. _125 O Prince Colonna, thou art our near kinsman, Cardinal, thou art the Pope’s chamberlain, Camillo, thou art chief justiciary, Take us away! CENCI [HE HAS BEEN CONVERSING WITH CAMILLO DURING THE FIRST PART OF BEATRICE’S SPEECH; HE HEARS THE CONCLUSION, AND NOW ADVANCES]: I hope my good friends here Will think of their own daughters—or perhaps _130 Of their own throats—before they lend an ear To this wild girl. BEATRICE [NOT NOTICING THE WORDS OF CENCI]: Dare no one look on me? None answer? Can one tyrant overbear The sense of many best and wisest men? Or is it that I sue not in some form _135 Of scrupulous law, that ye deny my suit? O God! That I were buried with my brothers! And that the flowers of this departed spring Were fading on my grave! And that my father Were celebrating now one feast for all! _140 NOTE: _132 no edition 1821; not edition 1819. CAMILLO: A bitter wish for one so young and gentle. Can we do nothing? COLONNA: Nothing that I see. Count Cenci were a dangerous enemy: Yet I would second any one. A CARDINAL: And I. CENCI: Retire to your chamber, insolent girl! _145 BEATRICE: Retire thou, impious man! Ay, hide thyself Where never eye can look upon thee more! Wouldst thou have honour and obedience Who art a torturer? Father, never dream, Though thou mayst overbear this company, _150 But ill must come of ill.—Frown not on me! Haste, hide thyself, lest with avenging looks My brothers’ ghosts should hunt thee from thy seat! Cover thy face from every living eye, And start if thou but hear a human step: _155 Seek out some dark and silent corner, there, Bow thy white head before offended God, And we will kneel around, and fervently Pray that he pity both ourselves and thee. CENCI: My friends, I do lament this insane girl _160 Has spoilt the mirth of our festivity. Good night, farewell; I will not make you longer Spectators of our dull domestic quarrels. Another time.— [EXEUNT ALL BUT CENCI AND BEATRICE.] My brain is swimming round; Give me a bowl of wine! [TO BEATRICE.] Thou painted viper! _165 Beast that thou art! Fair and yet terrible! I know a charm shall make thee meek and tame, Now get thee from my sight! [EXIT BEATRICE.] Here, Andrea, Fill up this goblet with Greek wine. I said I would not drink this evening; but I must; _170 For, strange to say, I feel my spirits fail With thinking what I have decreed to do.— [DRINKING THE WINE.] Be thou the resolution of quick youth Within my veins, and manhood’s purpose stern, And age’s firm, cold, subtle villainy; _175 As if thou wert indeed my children’s blood Which I did thirst to drink! The charm works well; It must be done; it shall be done, I swear! [EXIT.]
This scene from Shelley's verse drama *The Cenci* depicts the monstrous Count Cenci throwing a banquet to celebrate the deaths of two of his own sons, shocking his guests and prompting his daughter Beatrice to plead for protection from the assembled nobles. The scene concludes with Cenci alone, drinking wine and vowing to commit an unspecified act of violence against Beatrice. It paints a chilling picture of pure, self-satisfied evil disguised as a respectable patriarch.
Line-by-line
CENCI: Welcome, my friends and kinsmen; welcome ye, / Princes and Cardinals, pillars of the church,
FIRST GUEST: In truth, my Lord, you seem too light of heart, / Too sprightly and companionable a man,
CENCI: It is indeed a most desired event. / If when a parent from a parent's heart
BEATRICE [TO LUCRETIA]: Great God! How horrible! some dreadful ill / Must have befallen my brothers.
CENCI: Here are the letters brought from Salamanca; / Beatrice, read them to your mother.
BEATRICE: It is not true!—Dear Lady, pray look up. / Had it been true, there is a God in Heaven,
CENCI: Ay, as the word of God; whom here I call / To witness that I speak the sober truth;—
FIRST GUEST: Oh, horrible! I will depart— / SECOND GUEST: And I.—
CENCI [FILLING A BOWL OF WINE]: Oh, thou bright wine whose purple splendour leaps / And bubbles gaily in this golden bowl
A GUEST [RISING]: Thou wretch! / Will none among this noble company / Check the abandoned villain?
BEATRICE: I do entreat you, go not, noble guests; / What, although tyranny and impious hate
CENCI [ADVANCING]: I hope my good friends here / Will think of their own daughters—or perhaps / Of their own throats—
BEATRICE: Retire thou, impious man! Ay, hide thyself / Where never eye can look upon thee more!
CENCI: My friends, I do lament this insane girl / Has spoilt the mirth of our festivity.
CENCI [DRINKING THE WINE]: Be thou the resolution of quick youth / Within my veins, and manhood's purpose stern,
Tone & mood
The tone throughout is one of growing dread. Cenci's initial warmth is insincere, and the audience senses it, making every polite word he says feel like a tightly wound spring. When he finally drops the facade and joyfully announces his sons' deaths, the mood becomes one of genuine horror—not the supernatural kind, but the more unsettling variety, where the monster is simply a human at the dinner table. Beatrice’s speeches introduce themes of grief, desperation, and a fierce moral clarity that starkly contrasts with the nobles' cowardly silence. By the end, as Cenci stands alone, swearing his oath, the tone turns cold and inevitable, like the sound of a door closing that cannot be reopened.
Symbols & metaphors
- The wine bowl — Wine appears three times, and each time it gets darker. Initially, it serves as a social prop at a feast. Then, Cenci wishes it were his sons' blood so he could drink it as a sacrilegious offering to the Devil. Ultimately, he consumes it alone to brace himself for an act of violence. This progression mirrors his moral decline throughout the scene, transforming the eucharistic symbol of wine—representing life and grace—into something toxic and deadly.
- The feast / banquet — The banquet is meant to celebrate community and shared joy. Instead, Cenci twists it into a commemoration of his sons' deaths. By the end, the guests have run away, and the feast is 'broken up.' This ruined banquet symbolizes the destruction of all social bonds — family, hospitality, and civic duty — that should safeguard the innocent.
- The letters from Salamanca — The letters serve as tangible evidence of the sons' deaths. Cenci gives them to Beatrice to read to her mother — a cruel act that makes the women bear the burden of delivering the news. In this way, the letters exemplify how Cenci uses formal, clear documents to mask his violence as something factual and unavoidable.
- God / Heaven — Both Cenci and Beatrice invoke God, yet their intentions are completely different. Cenci calls on God to bear witness to his truth and interprets the deaths as signs of divine favor. In contrast, Beatrice addresses God as the 'Father of all,' seeking protection for the innocent. The same deity is claimed by both the oppressor and the victim, and neither prayer appears to receive an answer — highlighting the play's profound theological struggle.
- The brothers' ghosts — Beatrice calls upon the spirits of her deceased brothers to act as moral witnesses against Cenci. Although they don't physically appear, their absence is palpable throughout the scene. They symbolize the voiceless victims of patriarchal violence, lingering only as a threat that Beatrice uses, as it's her only weapon left.
- Cenci's 'wicked laughter' and white hair — Beatrice describes her father's laughter crinkling the skin around his hair, and later she tells him to bow his 'white head' before God. The signs of aging — white hair and wrinkled skin — illustrate how respectability and seniority can protect a tyrant. In Cenci, the features that typically signify a respected patriarch become a mask for a predator.
Historical context
Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote *The Cenci* in 1819, inspired by a scandal involving a Roman family from 1599, where Beatrice Cenci was executed for murdering her abusive father, Francesco Cenci. While in Italy, Shelley came across a manuscript detailing the case, which captivated him as it illustrated how tyranny—whether domestic, political, or religious—corrupts those it affects. Although the play was intended for the stage, Covent Garden rejected it, likely due to its controversial themes of incest, parricide, and the Church's failure to protect the innocent. Shelley dedicated the work to Leigh Hunt and regarded it as his most meticulously crafted piece. It aligns with the tradition of Jacobean revenge tragedy, echoing writers like Webster, Ford, and Middleton, but Shelley employs this form to discuss power, justice, and the limits of endurance, reflecting urgent political concerns amid the post-Napoleonic repression in Europe and the Peterloo Massacre of 1819.
FAQ
Yes, the Cenci family actually existed. Francesco Cenci was a wealthy Roman nobleman known for his violent behavior and abusive nature. In 1598, his daughter Beatrice, along with her stepmother Lucretia and brother Giacomo, conspired to murder him. The three were tried and executed in 1599 by order of Pope Clement VIII. In 1818, Shelley came across a manuscript detailing the case and adapted it into a verse drama the following year.
The play reveals that Cenci's sons were rebellious, actively seeking to have him prosecuted for his crimes. Their deaths eliminate the only individuals who had both the motive and the authority to challenge him legally. Additionally, he appears to derive a twisted, sadistic pleasure from their deaths — the scene portrays a man who has completely distorted normal human emotions, finding joy in the loss of his own children.
He implies that his threats hold the same undeniable power as a royal death warrant — and, similar to a king's hidden decree, no one will trace the violence back to him. It's a show of his invincibility. He’s warning the nobles that if they get involved, they'll face consequences, and no one will be able to link it to him.
Shelley is presenting a sharp political critique here. The nobles — including a Cardinal, a Prince, and the chief justice — have the authority to take action but opt not to because Cenci poses too great a threat. They feign sympathy while using the absence of a formal legal complaint as a shield. Their failure to act reveals how institutions meant to safeguard the vulnerable often end up protecting the powerful instead. This serves as one of the play's key criticisms.
It deliberately flips the Christian eucharist, where wine symbolizes Christ's blood shed for humanity's salvation. Cenci aims to drink his sons' blood, not out of mourning or sacrifice, but in triumph, intending to toast the Devil with it. Shelley uses this image to illustrate that Cenci has not only violated moral laws but has also built an entire anti-religion centered on cruelty and domination.
Shelley keeps this intentionally ambiguous, but within the overall context of the play, it alludes to rape. Cenci plans to attack Beatrice as a way to assert complete control — aiming to shatter her spirit through the most horrific violation. The word 'charm' serves as a euphemism, fitting into his habit of using pleasant or neutral terms to depict his heinous actions.
It portrays a person who has tried every usual approach—patience, prayer, endurance, private appeal—and is now taking a final public stand. She doesn't merely plead; she presents arguments. She breaks down every excuse the nobles might offer for their inaction and compels them to face the implications of their silence. This speech reflects remarkable moral courage from someone lacking any institutional power.
The Examiner of Plays turned it down for Covent Garden, likely due to its subject matter. A drama focusing on a father's sexual abuse of his daughter, culminating in parricide, was deemed unsuitable for the stage. There may have also been political apprehension regarding a play that directly criticizes the Church and the aristocracy for shielding a criminal. It wasn't performed publicly in England until 1886.