INTRODUCED BY A SERVANT, by Percy Bysshe Shelley: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
This scene from Shelley's verse drama *The Cenci* takes place right after Count Cenci — a cruel and abusive father — has been discovered dead.
The poem
AND ON THE OTHER LUCRETIA AND BERNARDO. SAVELLA: Lady, my duty to his Holiness Be my excuse that thus unseasonably I break upon your rest. I must speak with Count Cenci; doth he sleep? LUCRETIA [IN A HURRIED AND CONFUSED MANNER]: I think he sleeps; Yet, wake him not, I pray, spare me awhile, _5 He is a wicked and a wrathful man; Should he be roused out of his sleep to-night, Which is, I know, a hell of angry dreams, It were not well; indeed it were not well. Wait till day break... [ASIDE.] Oh, I am deadly sick! _10 NOTE: _6 a wrathful edition 1821; wrathful editions 1819, 1839. SAVELLA: I grieve thus to distress you, but the Count Must answer charges of the gravest import, And suddenly; such my commission is. LUCRETIA [WITH INCREASED AGITATION]: I dare not rouse him: I know none who dare... ’Twere perilous;...you might as safely waken _15 A serpent; or a corpse in which some fiend Were laid to sleep. SAVELLA: Lady, my moments here Are counted. I must rouse him from his sleep, Since none else dare. LUCRETIA [ASIDE]: O, terror! O, despair! [TO BERNARDO.] Bernardo, conduct you the Lord Legate to _20 Your father’s chamber. [EXEUNT SAVELLA AND BERNARDO.] [ENTER BEATRICE.] BEATRICE: ’Tis a messenger Come to arrest the culprit who now stands Before the throne of unappealable God. Both Earth and Heaven, consenting arbiters, Acquit our deed. LUCRETIA: Oh, agony of fear! _25 Would that he yet might live! Even now I heard The Legate’s followers whisper as they passed They had a warrant for his instant death. All was prepared by unforbidden means Which we must pay so dearly, having done. _30 Even now they search the tower, and find the body; Now they suspect the truth; now they consult Before they come to tax us with the fact; O, horrible, ’tis all discovered! BEATRICE: Mother, What is done wisely, is done well. Be bold _35 As thou art just. ’Tis like a truant child To fear that others know what thou hast done, Even from thine own strong consciousness, and thus Write on unsteady eyes and altered cheeks All thou wouldst hide. Be faithful to thyself, _40 And fear no other witness but thy fear. For if, as cannot be, some circumstance Should rise in accusation, we can blind Suspicion with such cheap astonishment, Or overbear it with such guiltless pride, _45 As murderers cannot feign. The deed is done, And what may follow now regards not me. I am as universal as the light; Free as the earth-surrounding air; as firm As the world’s centre. Consequence, to me, _50 Is as the wind which strikes the solid rock, But shakes it not. [A CRY WITHIN AND TUMULT.] VOICES: Murder! Murder! Murder! [ENTER BERNARDO AND SAVELLA.] SAVELLA [TO HIS FOLLOWERS]: Go search the castle round; sound the alarm; Look to the gates, that none escape! BEATRICE: What now? BERNARDO: I know not what to say...my father’s dead. _55 BEATRICE: How; dead! he only sleeps; you mistake, brother. His sleep is very calm, very like death; ’Tis wonderful how well a tyrant sleeps. He is not dead? BERNARDO: Dead; murdered. LUCRETIA [WITH EXTREME AGITATION]: Oh no, no! He is not murdered though he may be dead; _60 I have alone the keys of those apartments. SAVELLA: Ha! Is it so? BEATRICE: My Lord, I pray excuse us; We will retire; my mother is not well: She seems quite overcome with this strange horror. [EXEUNT LUCRETIA AND BEATRICE.] SAVELLA: Can you suspect who may have murdered him? _65 BERNARDO: I know not what to think. SAVELLA: Can you name any Who had an interest in his death? BERNARDO: Alas! I can name none who had not, and those most Who most lament that such a deed is done; My mother, and my sister, and myself. _70 SAVELLA: ’Tis strange! There were clear marks of violence. I found the old man’s body in the moonlight Hanging beneath the window of his chamber, Among the branches of a pine: he could not Have fallen there, for all his limbs lay heaped _75 And effortless; ’tis true there was no blood... Favour me, Sir; it much imports your house That all should be made clear; to tell the ladies That I request their presence. [EXIT BERNARDO.] [ENTER GUARDS, BRINGING IN MARZIO.] GUARD: We have one. OFFICER: My Lord, we found this ruffian and another _80 Lurking among the rocks; there is no doubt But that they are the murderers of Count Cenci: Each had a bag of coin; this fellow wore A gold-inwoven robe, which, shining bright Under the dark rocks to the glimmering moon _85 Betrayed them to our notice: the other fell Desperately fighting. SAVELLA: What does he confess? OFFICER: He keeps firm silence; but these lines found on him May speak. SAVELLA: Their language is at least sincere. [READS.] ‘To the Lady Beatrice. _90 That the atonement of what my nature sickens to conjecture may soon arrive, I send thee, at thy brother’s desire, those who will speak and do more than I dare write... ‘Thy devoted servant, Orsino.’ [ENTER LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, AND BERNARDO.] Knowest thou this writing, Lady? BEATRICE: No. SAVELLA: Nor thou? _95 LUCRETIA [HER CONDUCT THROUGHOUT THE SCENE IS MARKED BY EXTREME AGITATION]: Where was it found? What is it? It should be Orsino’s hand! It speaks of that strange horror Which never yet found utterance, but which made Between that hapless child and her dead father A gulf of obscure hatred. SAVELLA: Is it so? _100 Is it true, Lady, that thy father did Such outrages as to awaken in thee Unfilial hate? BEATRICE: Not hate, ’twas more than hate: This is most true, yet wherefore question me? SAVELLA: There is a deed demanding question done; _105 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 name Of the Pope’s Holiness. You must to Rome. LUCRETIA: O, not to Rome! Indeed we are not guilty. _110 BEATRICE: Guilty! Who dares talk of guilt? My Lord, I am more innocent of parricide Than is a child born fatherless...Dear mother, Your gentleness and patience are no shield For this keen-judging world, this two-edged lie, _115 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 do What ye neglect, arming familiar things _120 To the redress of an unwonted crime, Make ye the victims who demanded it Culprits? ’Tis ye are culprits! That poor wretch Who stands so pale, and trembling, and amazed, If it be true he murdered Cenci, was _125 A sword in the right hand of justest God. Wherefore should I have wielded it? Unless The crimes which mortal tongue dare never name God therefore scruples to avenge. SAVELLA: You own That you desired his death? BEATRICE: It would have been _130 A crime no less than his, if for one moment That 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. _135 ’Tis true that this did happen, and most true There 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, _140 You are the judge and executioner Of that which is the life of life: the breath Of accusation kills an innocent name, And leaves for lame acquittal the poor life Which is a mask without it. ’Tis most false _145 That I am guilty of foul parricide; Although I must rejoice, for justest cause, That other hands have sent my father’s soul To ask the mercy he denied to me. Now leave us free; stain not a noble house _150 With vague surmises of rejected crime; Add to our sufferings and your own neglect No 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: _155 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 here Our innocence is as an armed heel To trample accusation. God is there _160 As here, and with His shadow ever clothes The innocent, the injured and the weak; And such are we. Cheer up, dear Lady, lean On me; collect your wandering thoughts. My Lord, As soon as you have taken some refreshment, _165 And had all such examinations made 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 _170 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 Which is in every heart! O, misery! _175 [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 All things to guilt which is its nutriment. _180 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 Stand at the judgement-seat of mortal man, _185 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.]
This scene from Shelley's verse drama *The Cenci* takes place right after Count Cenci — a cruel and abusive father — has been discovered dead. Lucretia, his wife, is in a state of panic, while her stepdaughter Beatrice remains unsettlingly composed and defiant, claiming that killing a tyrant is a form of divine justice. When the papal legate Savella arrives to arrest them and take them to Rome for trial, Beatrice reimagines her role, seeing herself not as a murderer but as a tool of God's long-delayed retribution.
Line-by-line
Lady, my duty to his Holiness / Be my excuse that thus unseasonably
I think he sleeps; / Yet, wake him not, I pray, spare me awhile,
I dare not rouse him: I know none who dare... / 'Twere perilous;...you might as safely waken / A serpent
'Tis a messenger / Come to arrest the culprit who now stands / Before the throne of unappealable God.
Oh, agony of fear! / Would that he yet might live!
What is done wisely, is done well. Be bold / As thou art just.
Murder! Murder! Murder! / [ENTER BERNARDO AND SAVELLA.]
He is not murdered though he may be dead; / I have alone the keys of those apartments.
Can you name any / Who had an interest in his death?
We have one. / My Lord, we found this ruffian and another / Lurking among the rocks
Where was it found? What is it? It should be / Orsino's hand!
Guilty! Who dares talk of guilt? My Lord, / I am more innocent of parricide / Than is a child born fatherless
It would have been / A crime no less than his, if for one moment / That fierce desire had faded in my heart.
The breath / Of accusation kills an innocent name, / And leaves for lame acquittal the poor life / Which is a mask without it.
Why not to Rome, dear mother? There as here / Our innocence is as an armed heel / To trample accusation.
Ha! they will bind us to the rack, and wrest / Self-accusation from our agony!
She knows not yet the uses of the world. / She fears that power is as a beast which grasps / And loosens not
Tone & mood
The scene operates on two contrasting tones. Lucretia's lines are jagged, breathless, and filled with terror — marked by dashes, asides, and interruptions. In contrast, Beatrice's lines are steady, assertive, and almost tranquil. This difference is intentional. Shelley employs Lucretia's panic to evoke an emotional response likely to resonate with the audience, while Beatrice's calm demeanor can be perceived as either heroic or unsettling, depending on one's perspective. Savella's tone is bureaucratic and detached, amplifying the oppressive nature of institutional power against the stark human stakes on the other side.
Symbols & metaphors
- The serpent / fiend in a corpse — Lucretia's images for Cenci—a serpent, a corpse brought to life by a fiend—remove his humanity and depict him as something otherworldly and malevolent. This serves a moral purpose in the play: it transforms his killing from an act of murder into something akin to an exorcism.
- Light, air, and the world's centre — Beatrice portrays herself as 'universal as the light,' 'free as the air that surrounds the earth,' and 'steady as the center of the world.' These metaphors evoke a primal, undeniable strength. She's asserting a form of cosmic innocence that seems to place her beyond human judgment.
- The gold-inwoven robe — The assassin's shimmering robe reflects the moonlight, revealing his presence. This detail illustrates the connection between beauty and guilt in the play; the very item intended to celebrate the act ends up serving as the evidence that condemns it.
- The rack — Lucretia's vision of the torture rack illustrates how institutional power transforms suffering into confession. It's more than just a physical threat; it symbolizes a system that aims to create guilt instead of uncovering truth.
- Rome — Rome is where an authority resides that has already let the Cenci women down by dismissing their petitions against the Count. Being taken there doesn't deliver justice — it simply returns them to the same system that failed them. Beatrice's view of Rome as a place of vindication is either a glimmer of hope or just a performance.
- The pine tree / moonlight — Cenci's body, found hanging from the branches of a pine tree in the moonlight, creates a haunting Gothic scene that straddles the line between the natural and the supernatural. The moonlight that exposes the body also highlights the assassin's robe—it remains indifferent, shining on both guilt and innocence.
Historical context
Shelley wrote *The Cenci* in 1819, inspired by a true story from the sixteenth century involving Beatrice Cenci, who was executed for orchestrating her father’s murder after enduring years of abuse. At the time, Shelley was living in Italy and learned about the case through a manuscript and a portrait believed to be by Guido Reni. He viewed Beatrice as a tragic character undone by a corrupt system — a victim who turned to crime when all legal options were unavailable. Although the play was intended for the stage, it was denied a performance license in England, partly due to its themes (parricide and implied incest) and partly because of Shelley's radical reputation. It was finally performed publicly in 1886, over sixty years after his death. The scene analyzed here is Act IV, Scene iv — the moment of the murder's discovery and the family's arrest — which acts as a turning point in the play, where Beatrice’s private act of defiance transforms into a public crime.
FAQ
This is a scene from Shelley's verse drama *The Cenci*, specifically Act IV, Scene iv. At this moment in the play, Beatrice has orchestrated the murder of her father, Count Cenci, who has subjected her and her family to years of brutal abuse. This scene depicts the immediate fallout: the body is found, the assassins are apprehended, and the papal legate Savella arrests the family to take them to Rome for trial.
Yes, the play clearly shows that Beatrice arranged the murder, even though she never admits it outright. The letter from Orsino found with the assassin connects her to the scheme, and her own words — where she admits to having 'believed, and hoped, and prayed' for her father's death — reveal her involvement to the audience while she denies any legal responsibility. Shelley isn’t focused on who did it; instead, he probes whether her actions were morally wrong.
Shelley intentionally contrasts the two women. Lucretia's panic is a typical human reaction to being caught. In contrast, Beatrice remains calm because she believes she acted justly — she views the killing as divine retribution, not murder, and this belief (or her act of believing) keeps her composed. The question of whether her calm stems from true moral certainty or remarkable self-control in a high-pressure situation is a key ambiguity in the play.
She asserts a deep, unassailable innocence. Light, air, and the earth's core are constants that can’t be altered or tainted—by likening herself to these elements, she implies that no accusation, legal action, or human judgment can affect her true essence. It’s a striking rhetorical move, and Shelley delivers it with such power that you feel its impact, even while recognizing the risks it carries.
It’s a frantic, contradictory effort to separate herself from the crime. She hints that Cenci could have died by accident or from natural causes — but that reasoning falls apart right away, and Savella's pointed 'Ha! Is it so?' reveals he picks up on the inconsistency. This is one of the scene's bleakest moments of dark comedy: Lucretia's attempt to assist only makes things worse.
Orsino is a priest who has been subtly controlling Beatrice throughout the play—his encouragement of the murder plot is driven in part by his own self-interest. The letter, discovered on the captured assassin, is addressed to Beatrice and alludes to 'that atonement' for unspeakable crimes. This letter serves as tangible evidence linking Beatrice to the conspiracy and also hints at the sexual abuse perpetrated by Cenci—a topic Shelley could not openly address due to the censorship norms of his era.
Beatrice contends that human institutions — like the Church and the Pope's law — did not shield her from Cenci's crimes, even after she pleaded for help. When earthly justice fails, divine intervention occurs. Thus, the killing isn't seen as murder but as divine retribution, and those prosecuting her are punishing the victim of the crime they chose to ignore. This is a compelling argument, and Shelley intends for the audience to grasp its impact — while also acknowledging that such reasoning can be used to justify nearly anything.
The Lord Chamberlain's office denied a licence mainly due to its subject matter: parricide (the act of killing one's father) and the suggested sexual abuse of a daughter by her father were seen as too unsettling for public performance. Shelley's reputation as an atheist and political radical didn't help either. The play was eventually performed publicly in 1886, over sixty years after Shelley's death in 1822.