 | Borgia |  |
SCENE V
The Pope's Bedroom in the Borgia Apartments at the Vatican.The Lord Alexander VI. is extended asleep on the bed.
The Lord Cardinal Bartolomeo of Segovia and Monsignore Gaspare Poto.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
I thank God for this sleep. Those fearful days
I knelt against his door! The raving wildness
I heard at times—inhospitable sorrow,
Aloof from our Creator! Then, dashed down,
The heavy frame wept like a haunted child's.
Then silence
Too perilous to spread! I beat the door.
POTO.
We stood and watched and prayed you might prevail.
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And when he opened—Jesu, he was faded
As a dead fish; slack chin, and Arab eyes
Glassy in fever, with a vengeful thirst.
If only he had known the murderer,
And could have struck him down to deepest hell—
POTO.
Each moment
He snatches ends of this dark mystery,
As he unravelled at the dead of night
The broidery on a frame he could but feel.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
True, true! It turns the brain that no one knows.
Some whisper 'twas the Lord of Pesaro
Revenged himself for ridicule and the shame
Of his divorce.
POTO.
[Shaking his head.]
He has no credit here.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
Some roundly have it
The Lord Ascanio Sforza did the deed,
For he and Gandia quarrelled the same day
That our fine Duke was struck.
POTO.
It was a masterpiece
Of secrecy—this murder.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
No more news?
POTO.
By item all I know is told to you,
My Lord Segovia.
ALEXANDER.
[From the bed.]
Ah!
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I will retire,
And send the Lord Francesco Borgia up
To urge his cousin's appetite.
Behold!
[Poto, turning to the bed, finds the Pope sitting up, a beatific smile on his face.
ALEXANDER.
But I have seen my son in Paradise . . .
POTO.
How fares your Holiness this morning?
ALEXANDER.
Poto,
There was no scar on him, not the least wound;
That is the truth: and he stood armed again.
As bright as San Michele he looked down
Upon us from the wall, his gonfalon
Swathing around him as he stood. His face
Was to me as an angel's.
[He weeps quietly.]
I repent,
I will change all to meet that boy again
In Paradise, no wound on him, no scar.
And yet the sight of him,
O Poto, drove down to the rasping quick
Of conscience through my heart. All shall be changed,
The Vatican be cleared of sin. These bastards . . .
Let me not see them more! Joffré, Lucrezia—
Joffré must mind his government afar,
I banish him. Lucrece—oh, I shall gather
The seas between us; she shall dwell in Spain,
Dwell in Valencia, deep, where I was born,
White little demon-girl!
[He rises, trembling, and Poto robes him.]
No priest henceforward
Shall hold two benefices; simony
No more shall breed among us. God would punish
Some sin in us; it could not be Giovanni
Deserved a death so cruel. Gently, Poto,
You are too violent.
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Patience, Holiness,
You slit the silk.
ALEXANDER.
Where is the Cardinal
I called my son? Unnatural, where are they?
The children I have fostered in my bosom,
Where are they?
POTO.
Holiness,
Donna Lucrezia in the Sistine Convent
Prays day and night.
ALEXANDER.
Sweet soul!
POTO.
The Lord Valencia—
ALEXANDER.
Ah, what of him? Where is his piety?
POTO.
When your affliction broke on you, before it
Men fled as from a pest. Lord Cesare
Is shut within his palace; duteously,
Almost from hour to hour, his servants pass
For tidings of your health.
An Usher appears at the door.
USHER.
The Governor
Of Rome prays for the Presence.
ALEXANDER.
He has tidings?
Oh, it will break my heart! I would lie down
Within my coffin—and that tapestry
About the portal, with its shaking folds,
Opens and shuts the lid. Let him come in.
[The Governor comes to the Pontiff's feet.
I would not question you; give full relation;
Do not repeat the tales of yesterday.
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Most Holy Father, there is little new
Of the Lord Duke to certify—his mule
Was found hard by the Palace Barbarini.
ALEXANDER.
[To Poto.]
My lad, my lad! We know what beauty there
Looks into Tiber like the moon!
I thank you
For your devotion.
GOVERNOR.
Shall we still further search?
ALEXANDER.
Expressly, till the recreant be slain.
He dies within my thoughts a several death
Each time I front the dark where he is lost.
God damn him deeper every day! Search, search!
[Exit Governor.
His mule, and at that spot! Gaspare, breathe around
The Palace, bribe the women. If a stab
From jealousy—we stop the inquisition.
Mea culpa, mea culpa!
Enter the Lord Francesco Borgia.
O Francesco,
What do you bear so carefully—the Host?
CARDINAL BORGIA.
Nay, but a little food.
ALEXANDER.
I cannot eat.
Gaspare, bear it from the room. Go all
Away from me!
[Exeunt all save Cardinal Borgia, who quietly remains.
Cousin, you wait for news?
It is too true
The boy has perished by his father's sins.
I must make expiation for his lust:
I have lived ill. Before the Consistory
I will make full confession.
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Holiness,
If I may trust the murmur in my ears
From men to whose free speech
I gave safe conduct, it is not for you
To make avowal. Heaven requires of you
Such greatness and capacity of pardon
As in extent it touched the limits of,
Setting its brand of safety upon Cain.
ALEXANDER.
What, Joffré?
CARDINAL BORGIA.
No, not Joffré ... but a son.
Belovèd, exercise the privilege
Of God's vicegerent. Wash away this guilt,
Remove it from you; pardon secretly.
ALEXANDER.
Not Joffré? Joffré is my heir .... You lay
A heavy stone upon Giovanni's grave
To keep me from him. But it is not true,
It cannot be! We Borgia do no harm
To any of our kin.
CARDINAL BORGIA.
And yet to certainty
Drive the suspicion, and forgive the crime.
[The Pope paces, wringing his hands.
ALEXANDER.
He never made complaint. I have been thoughtless,
Thoughtless to Cesare .... He has been absent
Too often from our ceremonials,
From our investitures. I drove him jealous
By welcome of his brother out of Spain.
I did him wrong.
Good kinsman, you have taught me
To dry my tears ... and I have still a son.
Fetch me again the little dish of food,
The wine .... I am grown faint.
See that this bruit
Come never to his mother. He is all
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God knows my love to him is infinite!
But—bid him keep his palace. I forbid
His presence here .... My sins have plunged my children
In death and hell, and I must live alone.
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