 | Borgia |  |
SCENE III
The Vatican: Sala dei Pontifici.The Lord Alexander and Donna Lucrezia Borgia d'Este. She is in a crimson travelling-dress, with hat and feather.
ALEXANDER.
And now we part!
LUCREZIA.
Dear Holiness, my Father . . .
ALEXANDER.
Ah, Child—Lucrezia! The pale eyes are rounding
To pearls, great precious pearls, that feed their orbs
Upon a sea of tears .... But you are young,
Scarce twenty-two, and, yonder in the north,
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Is now already at your sovereign home.
Listen, my little girl: be circumspect
Among the Este, blameless to their watching:
But with a gentle steadfastness of pride
Meet and o'erthrow their arrogance ... God keep you
From cold disdain or cruelty!
LUCREZIA.
Father, my courage
Is sure for I have won my husband's father:
His brothers too, though nobly formal still,
As fashion rules their manners, have kind faces,
An air that makes me brave.
You must not pine, dear father,
Nor look for me too often, nor remember
I am so far away.
ALEXANDER.
Nay, no caught breath!
Sobs will not help my Duchess home.
Ah, sweeting,
They do not do up at Ferrara there
As we in Rome: they live less joyously.
But you, a woman, will be sensitive
To all I stumble at the hinting of.
The peg you sing to must be set less high,
Less near Olympus. My bold horsewoman,
You must not tarry as with me to watch
The stallions worship Venus: those rich flames
Are out of mode for Don Alfonso's wife . . .
Your feet will often weary for the dance—
You shake your head ... Well, then, a fruitful couch,
A sturdy race of princes be engendered
To comfort you! Lucrezia, O Lucrece,
The Vatican without you—the procession
Of gaudy midnights and no feather-footed,
Sweet daughter making grace, embroidering
The torchlight with her silver attitudes,
And floating flash of diamonds, till the dawn
Came to me from her swaying pearls, and eyes
Half-open in the languid Spanish dance!
Day after day my coffers will boil up
With pearl on pearl for you ... To-morrow morning
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And, Duchess of Ferrara, anything
We can perform for you is done the moment
It is but a desire within your hope.
LUCREZIA.
Dear Holiness, you whelm me with your love!
Take care for me, my father, of your health.
Cesare will be dutiful and anxious
To make your evenings merry—but so soon
Cesare will be from you at his wars.
ALEXANDER.
And I be left a gray, old priest alone!
Well, I must bear my age and loneliness
As of the time of life.
If you would comfort me,
Daughter, in desolation—for already
The Vatican is chilling, growing hollow
Behind your cavalcade—then write to me
At every sleeping-place or tarrying-place
Along your way: and do not anger me
With negligence. Be diligent and careful,
As of your duty, to inform my thoughts
With each event that touches you. To-night
You rest at Castelnovo. Rest and eat!
Then out with pen and let the little hand,
Tired with the reins, yet for my foolish sake
Write me good-night, thy health, the courtesy
Shown to thee on thy way.
LUCREZIA.
Even beside my prayers
I set this duty.
ALEXANDER.
Sweet, and most sweetly promised!
Oh, my Lucrezia, you will never know,
For Nature will not in her rule betray
Her elder secrets to young ears, how fondly
I love you in your fairness,
That was your mother's lure about my soul ....
Lucrece, your mother is both loyal and good:
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If you are hers in worth as loveliness.
Enter Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna with little Don Rodrigo d'Aragon.
Cesare and your little son!
LUCREZIA.
[Clasping her child.]
Rodrigo,
I leave you with your grandsire .... Ah, my feather!
You laugh to see it dancing. I will send you
Long feathers from the city where I dwell ....
O father, let me kiss you, let me see
Your hand upon his head. I cannot stay!
I am no more a bride—rather a corse
To leave all this behind.
ALEXANDER.
There, there, there! Do not cry!
The child is sobbing, and my eyes ... White Fairy,
Enchantress, you are loved and you are wept
By generations: by your sire, his son,
And by your son.
LUCREZIA.
Cesare does not weep.
ALEXANDER.
His eyes burn threateningly, his face is cold;
That is a warrior's weeping.
Cesare,
We shall be dull as monks when she is gone.
To-night ... I am the Pontiff, you almost
A Cardinal again. To think one woman,
A little bride, with streaming hair, can set me
Alone upon St. Peter's rock to weep!
Now guard thy health, pray ever to Madonna,
The glorious Virgin. Benedicite!
Into my arms once more! O Cesare,
What I have lost to found you as a Prince,
To wed her safe to sovereignty! My Este,
My own Lucrezia—
And the letter, child;
Do not forget.
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Come, come!
ALEXANDER.
Do not be ill;
Do not forget.
[They part: Cesare leads her to the door.
CESARE.
[Suddenly still and turning.]
One kiss, but not farewell—
One kiss here in the Vatican!
ALEXANDER.
[Shaking his pastoral staff at Cesare.]
O Traitor,
My temporal power would over-reach me thus?
The last kiss from the Vatican will float
Out from the window yonder where I watch
The last long arrow-streak of your array
Toward Castelnovo. It will be a kiss,
And fly like autumn cranes to Africa.
[Exeunt Cesare and Lucrezia.
Gone, gone!
Here gather all the Cardinals.
The Sacred College enters.
Quick, to the window ....
[Lifting Rodrigo.]
Up, my little man,
And see your mother leave us.
Ha, how trim
She sits, beside her Cesare, how grand!
I shall take journey
In April to Ferrara .... What if never,
If never I should see her any more! . . .
My lord Antoniotto,
That is a sight Vergilian gods would praise!
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