University of Virginia Library

SCENE III

The Abbess' room at the Convent of Corpus Domini at Ferrara. At the back there is a little shrine and a crucifix.
The Lord Cardinal Ippolito d'Este converses with Messer Cristofero.
CRISTOFERO.
It will not be her death; she has such safety
As quiet pinions give to birds in storm.

IPPOLITO.
I dared not tell her till her husband wrote;
His letter trembles in my hand ....

CRISTOFERO.
For days
She has been pacing, fasting, full of terrors
Worse far than any term! The air has quickened
To prophet's divination—noise and silence
Was in it of great woe.
She comes .... God's mercy!

Enter Duchess Lucrezia Borgia d'Este, in the dress of a penitent, her hair unbound.
LUCREZIA.
He is dead, Ippolito!

IPPOLITO.
Read—from your husband.

LUCREZIA.
Tell me ... the parchment rocks .... You see
My hands, my eyes are helpless; but my soul
Is firmer. Tell me ....

CRISTOFERO.
He is dead, Madonna!

LUCREZIA.
God told me—and I only hear it now!
Cesare!—and so far, so far ....
Oh, tell me,
Save me in nothing: I shall lose all refuge
Of credence if you do not make me sure
As death that he is dead.

IPPOLITO.
The letter—

LUCREZIA.
Some voice to tell me!

IPPOLITO.
[To Cristofero.]
Call Juanito.
[Exit Cristofero.
Sister, if you would learn, the King Don Juan
Has sent the faithful squire whose feet have followed
Your soldier to his grave.

LUCREZIA.
Whose feet have followed,
Among the foreigners ....

IPPOLITO.
O Light of Arms!
His wife, his sister will lament for him,
As round the dead Achilles wept Cassandra,
And wept Polyxena,
That in the world none lived redoubtable
As he who everywhere brought peace or war.
He drew his doom as lightnings ever strike
The mountain-heights Acroceraunian,
While lesser mountains stretch along, unflamed.
We leave him to God's judgment, in the glory
And terror of those strokes.

Re-enter Cristofero with Juanito Grasica.
LUCREZIA.
By your own eyes,
By your own lips, vow you will tell me truth.
[Juanito lays his forehead on her hand.
Where?

JUANITO.
At Viana in Navarre.

LUCREZIA.
Viana! . . .
It is as distant as the grave.

JUANITO.
He challenged
The outposts of the Count of Lérin ....

LUCREZIA.
That
Is nothing now—foregone! Speak but of him;
The moment, my extremity.

JUANITO.
We lost him;
His horse affrighted galloped on the blast;
He disappeared beneath us where the lea
Broke to ravine: we heard the hoofs beneath us,
And cries of fierce pursuit ... but all was darkness.

[He weeps bitterly.
LUCREZIA.
Yes, weep, weep—it is well!
Now speak of him.

JUANITO.
Dawn found me tangled by the night, and crying
In the alien, stone wilderness, a captive.
They brought his arms,
His sparkling arms; they questioned of the Prince
Who wore them.

LUCREZIA.
But the moment . . .

JUANITO.
Of a sudden
The foe retreated, leaving me: I reached
The rough-hewn gorge ....
[Near to her and in a changed voice.
He lay there, naked
He lay . . .
[Lucrezia folds her arms over her breast as with a close embrace.
—his face under the sky: his wounds
A hero's—twenty-three; across his loins
A bloodied stone, his life-blood round the rocks,
His hair a weft of red. How beautiful,
And wild and out of memory was his face!
The great wind swept him and the sun rose up . . .

LUCREZIA.
They buried him?

JUANITO.
Beside the lectern of St. Mary's church
Within Viana, and the pomp was great,
For he had thought to bind a crown on once:
They gave him kingly honours.

LUCREZIA.
Oh, pray for him,
That he may rest in peace! There must be peace.
Great, agitated Spirit! Oh, let prayers,
Reverend Ippolito, let prayers be said
In every church, at every altar-stone,
By all the quiet lips that wait on God.
Leave me .... The prayers, the prayers, dear Cardinal,
That he may rest in everlasting peace!
Cristofero and the poor Squire—all go.
All pray for us.
[They leave her and she kneels before the crucifix of the little shrine.
Cesare, O my eagle! . . .
The stony tract! . . .
I am but for thy use
To pray thee into peace, to win a crown
Even now for thee, where the vast Majesty
Gives each his destined aim made bright by prayers.
Maria, aid! It is his heritage.
Spare him and aid me! Every day, at night,
On through the years while I must see the sun
Who have lost my sun fallen in that dire west—
On to the silence of the hour of death,
Let me not cease my voice! It is my love
Sole to him, as I am. O Cesare,
My body evermore, till sepulture,
Shall bind the hair-shirt to its flesh as barbs,
Never forgetful how thou wert cast forth
Stripped to the sky, with nothing in the world
To plead to God with but thy valiant blood,
Thy regal front below Him.
I could almost
Swoon into prayer, but for the intercession
Of the great, peaceful companies on earth,
And bowing through the heavens and round God's Throne.

[She sinks into a still ecstasy. Silently Suor Lucia enters and kneels beside her.