 | Borgia |  |
SCENE VI
A room in the Castle of Nepi.In front is a fireplace, flanked by two chests bearing the mono grams of Don Alfonso and Donna Lucrezia. To the right is a narrow window beaten with rain. To the left, in a dark corner of the apartment, Donna Lucrezia's Secretary Messer Cristofero stands by his desk before a pile of papers and documents. Don Federico Altieri, a young Roman gentleman of the Princess's escort, leans against the desk.
DON FEDERICO.
But speak of her,
But give me leave to speak—perplexity
Is on us of her escort: we were bid
Accompany her as she were led to prison;
And in this Nepi that is hers we know
She is a captive—we would rescue her;
She is a victim—we would slay the tyrant.
Oh, she is like a girl, a younger sister,
Still shut up with her tutors, whose fair face
Climbs from a narrow casement, and spreads torture,
Cursing and disbelief through idle time.
What dwells within those plaits of saffron hair?
Speak, secretary, for all our patience ends.
88
It must not. Hers will never end. Her passions
Lie in a bed of patience.
DON FEDERICO.
In a sea
That overwhelms them!
CRISTOFERO.
No, in a bed of patience;
And there she fosters them. She will not die.
DON FEDERICO.
Will she be wed again, again revive
As the seasons alternate from cold to hot,
With a great patience till the years be spent?
CRISTOFERO.
Don Federico, she will never wed
Save as her father's policy decrees;
She is a sainted daughter.
DON FEDERICO.
And a sister—
How would you rate her there?
CRISTOFERO.
It is the Duke himself
That banished her: he could not tolerate
The tears he caused to flow. If you would serve her,
Let those in Rome about His Holiness
Be taught she languishes for Rome; effect
Her swift recall. I will provide you taste
Sweetness of her sweet gratitude. I have served her
Through many bitter days and found her sweetness
As the perfume of her patience.
Enter Donna Lucrezia.
She approaches.
My orders are most strict: you must retire.
89
[After a profound obeisance.]
But in the name of your whole escort, sovereign,
If we can aid—
[Lucrezia looks down on him and remains dumb.
CRISTOFERO.
[To Don Federico.]
Receive our sovereign's thanks.
[Exit Don Federico.
LUCREZIA.
There are so many letters,
So many letters that I cannot write.
My poor Cristofero,
We meet this way together every morning;
I cannot write; I cannot sign my name.
It startles me to see my name ....
Put by your papers.
[Cristofero lays manuscripts into drawers.
But there is an action:
Write to the Cardinal San Severini
That he may have new prayers, new prayers—all day
Said in the monasteries on account
Of the great sorrow I have had to bear.
[Laying her hand on Cristofero.
Provide that Vincent take
The gold I gave him to the Cardinal,
That a great requiem be solemnised
For the Prince Duke my husband—for his soul.
The glory of the saints play over him
And mingle him among them in their bliss!
I cannot bear my shadowy court of folk
That make no feast, that speak in low-toned voices,
And yet are raising up no prayers to Heaven
To draw down peace on him. There must be peace;
And I must lay my sorrow down to rest
Soft and for ever as I laid my dead.
[Cristofero begins to write; Lucrezia looks from the window.
There is no truth
In staying here, in all this haggard country,
With all its miles on miles of withering turf.
Must I be sovereign of this sultry air,
90
Great fissures that affright .... Of the miasma too
My babe may die. Are there no posts from Rome?
CRISTOFERO.
None, Excellency—yet I would convey
News of your health, of the young Prince's health,
If it should please you, to his Holiness.
LUCREZIA.
Nay, we must not be forward. Posts will come
To Nepi, if at Nepi I abide ....
Enter Donna Hieronyma Borgia with little Don Rodrigo. Donna Lucrezia runs to her.
Give me the child.
HIERONYMA.
Fie, he will set you weeping!
LUCREZIA.
[Throwing back her widow's veil.
While he smiles? Bambino,
How thou wilt charm thy grand-dad.
Up and down,
Then up again—ha, ha!
HIERONYMA.
The child is growing.
LUCREZIA.
Is it possible to grow—away from Rome?
[She sets Rodrigo on a table before her.
Hieronyma, see the small, beating feet!
This babe will dance before he learn to walk.
HIERONYMA.
His mother's babe!
LUCREZIA.
Roble, we must to Rome!
'Tis there one dances.
91
Gently, kinswoman,
The child is here in safety.
LUCREZIA.
From what foe? In safety?
The child is mine .... He will protect the child.
[Dancing Rodrigo.]
Pat, pat—bare toes!
Cristofero, your Prince
Is clad as quaintly as a traveller
In haste, and seeking refuge. Write to Vincent
That he send quickly stuffs and broideries;
Write for the little coat,
Punctured with gold, I wrought him.
HIERONYMA.
Not the gold one;
Our Prince wears mourning.
A Servant enters: he confers apart with Cristofero and goes out.
LUCREZIA.
Babe, what we must wear!
But I shall make your garments, one by one,
Even till you grow a man.
He snatches pearls!
I love their slide about my throat—nay, Roble,
Their touch is silkier than a baby's thumb.
Fie, little cricket!
CRISTOFERO.
Donna!—
LUCREZIA.
[Turning.]
Posts from Rome?
You have tidings?
CRISTOFERO.
No, Madonna ....
LUCREZIA.
Say!
92
Duke Valentino
Is here, is at the doors.
LUCREZIA.
I have not seen. . .
CRISTOFERO.
None ever sees, Madonna: from the ground
His army springs.
LUCREZIA.
[Standing quietly and wringing her hands.
And his commands?
CRISTOFERO.
To bid farewell.
Madonna, he is busy,
His one thought of his conquests. But an instant,
Give him an instant's audience and God speed.
LUCREZIA.
Where is he?
CRISTOFERO.
In soft converse with Capello.
LUCREZIA.
And whither—?
CRISTOFERO.
Sweet mistress, ask him whither; that will make
Matter of speech between you. Ask him whither.
LUCREZIA.
I cannot see him! If he come, he comes
As the thunder that one cannot bear, or as
The earthquake that one suffers.
CRISTOFERO.
He was most tender
You should not be disturbed.
[Hieronyma is taking the sleepy child away; Lucrezia motions it is to remain.
The Duke must march
Within an hour ....
93
[To Hieronyma.]
But I will mind the child.
[Cristofero goes out; Hieronyma draws back; Lucrezia lays Rodrigo to sleep on a cushion and remains by him.
Enter Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna. He is dressed in black, rain-streaked velvet, and a coat of fine mail; his belt and sword are gold; from the black beretta in his hand a white, rain-drenched feather sweeps to the ground. He is followed by Don Michelotto Corella, Monsignore Gaspare Torella, Messer Agapito de Amalia and the Cavaliere Vincenzo Calmeta.
CESARE.
Your benediction
Upon our arms and our diplomacy!
[Lucrezia lifts her eyes and salutes his Captains and trains.
We start for Pesaro. None in the army
Has learnt that secret. We are here in conclave.
I go to conquer Pesaro. Giovanni
De Sforza has made havoc of your fame—
In tongue and hand
He shall be rendered impotent.
[Drawing closer].
For you
I fight, Lucrezia: you burned so hot
For vengeance of that enemy. I marked
The rage enkindled in your very substance,
As it must be when women are traduced.
Lucrece, I am no more a Cardinal;
I am a soldier with an army, such
As princes covet, and my first assault
Will be on Pesaro.
Are you a corpse,
A sentinel beside the child? You stand
So solid and so simple, like a block
Of marble that is dragged into a room
Long as its beauty pleases, and dragged forth,
If it can take no lustre from our moods.
94
[Moving a liitle forward.]
There is my lord Torella, always faithful;
Agapito, who loves you—I commend
The Duke to you, to you . . .
[Turning back.]
The child awakens!
[Cesare lifts Rodrigo, who resists.
He will not ... but he must.
[She shudders as Cesare kisses the child and gives it to her.
...At Pesaro
You will find my lute; I remember where I left it—
In the fourth chamber: you will find my books;
Take care of them. Farewell . . .
CESARE.
A rivederla!
The lady here would haunt us. Will you fear,
Michelotto, you, a pacing ghost?
You have laid many such!
[To his cortege.]
I led you here
That you might look on her, and Pesaro
Fall without aid of cannon. Ha, a fool!
[He laughs and turns on his heel.
LUCREZIA.
[Looking after him wistfully and addressing Calmeta.
Your lord may be a king—I have dreamed it thus—
I would your lord should be a king ....
Dear captains,
And soldiers, and the poet ... give him glory.
CALMETA.
But we would fight for you.
LUCREZIA.
Then give him glory.
CESARE.
[Half turning.]
I am ashamed a poet should behold you!
Cavaliere, she was in our thoughts
A statue of fair Victory, a winged
95
She flees along ....
Turn from her, she will damp
The stoutest hearts—a weather to discourage
An army from the field!
[Taking up a fold of Lucrezia's veil.]
In widow's weeds—
For my assassin! These are widow's weeds,
Are they not? They displease me; they deform.
LUCREZIA.
[In a low, firm voice, while she trembles.
They will remain upon me the full time;
Their darkness on me my whole life till death.
CESARE.
Your future is irrelevant. Till death?
But nothing matters then.
[Addressing his cortege.
To Pesaro!
[Turning again to Lucrezia.
You look a lady fit to nurse the wounds
Of men who fight for other women's love.
[He coldly touches her hand—his followers bowing low to her, move aside as he passes to the door: there he steps back and surveys Lucrezia, who is shaken with agitation, then, smiling maliciously, he goes out.
LUCREZIA.
Demon!
[She weeps bitterly.]
... I am a toy
In hands that play their game of rivalry
Over the stream of death.
O child!
[She crushes Rodrigo to her breast.
| Borgia | |