University of Virginia Library

ACT III

SCENE I

The Vatican—Sala dei Pontifici.
The Lord Alexander VI. and Monsignore Gaspare Poto.
ALEXANDER.
How high the storm is rumbling! Crack! What fell?
Look through the window.

POTO.
'Tis an old ilex-bough,
That sails along like a black, ruffled swan
A space above the ground.

ALEXANDER.
Draw in, draw in, draw in,
My light of service, Gaspare—the wind
Would, if it could, extinguish you.
Go yonder!
Set further in upon the table there
That vase ... enamel with the whirl-blast round it,
And the enamel matchless! Did you tell me
My lord Antoniotto Pallavicini
Waits for an audience? Of a truth, the tempest
Drove not His peace from Christ within the ship.
Well—introduce the Cardinal St. Praxede.
[Exit Poto.
Vespers will sound directly; but the bell
Of the old, dying day will shape a tinkle
In this mad, hammering gale, and no one hear.
[Re-enter Monsignore Gaspare Poto with the Lord Cardinal Antoniotto Pallavicini.]
Good even, lord Antoniotto.

CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
Holiness,
What wind!

ALEXANDER.
Santi, it wrenches everything it handles—
No touching, but possession. Lord Antoniotto,
You come to seek the dispensation. Poto
Will tell you when I reached my bed last night;
Yet with all industry your business lingered
Still far beyond my goal. I crave your patience.
So many festivals this jubilee,
Processions, triumphs! O my Lord Cardinal,
Think—and the great rejoicing yesterday
When our young Duke received from Holy Church
The Order of the Mystic Rose that blossoms
Upon the banks of the abundant rivers—
Crown of the Church triumphant, militant.
My lord, the pity you were held at sea,
Delayed at Ostia too! Our Duke knelt down;
He took the emblem, kissed the hand, and kissed
The foot of Christ's vicegerent; then together
We stood erect, and he advanced; for once
He went before me—that was joy!—before me,
The Rose in his right hand, the hovering Dove
On his beretta, with its fretted rays,
A nimbus round him from the monster pearls,
And he before me like a star of heaven!
You have heard the Sacred College makes him Vicar,
Duke of Romagna, Count of Imola,
Forli? There were some seventeen Cardinals
Signed, when I signed the Bull.

CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
And I away from Rome!

ALEXANDER.
Poto, shut down that casement.
Hoo! I shiver—shiver!
A cold so keen and violent.

CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
I will aid him.
Your Holiness is prudent.
[At the window.]
What a shock
And surge among the roofs.
[With a crash the ceiling falls in over the Pope.
O God!
What is it? What has happened?
Is he dead?

POTO.
Oh, oh, oh! The Pope is dead.

CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
The Pope
Is dead, is dead.

[They rush out to the Guard—a cry down the galleries “The Pope is dead!”
POTO.
[Re-entering.]
What horror!
His Blessèdness, where is he? Jammed behind
Those ribs of vaulting—but the throne still stands,
Veiled by a dais-curtain.
Re-enter the Lord Cardinal Antoniotto Pallavicini and the Papal Guard. The vesper bell begins to ring.
O my lord, look there!

[They discover the Pope.
CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
Ah, God on earth, he keeps his throne! Not dead;
See, see, he moves the ruin from his hands.

POTO.
His brow bleeds .... [to Guard.]
Gently, the great daïs-nails
Will harrow up his arm.

CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
But he is still as death!
Now pass him through the crevice the dropped vaultings
A-tilt have made.

[They bring the Pope out and raise him slowly on his feet.
ALEXANDER.
Yes ... to my room,

[He is helped into the next chamber.
CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
Thank God!

Enter Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna.
CESARE.
My father . . .
The Lord Lorenzo Chigi is stone-dead
Above .... My father!

CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
Excellency, safe;
But hurt, but bleeding.

CESARE.
Publish wide the news;
Shout his escape! Send doctors, send the best—
The Bishop of Venosa.

[Exit into the Pope's chamber.
[Cardinal Pallavicini goes out, as Cardinals and Physicians pass in.
After a while Donna Lucrezia Borgia d'Aragon enters and stands waiting till some one passes out of the bed-chamber.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
[Passing out.]
Your Excellency, the Pope's Holiness
Has at the very edge of death been spared.

LUCREZIA.
I am so thankful!

[Physicians come out.
BISHOP OF VENOSA.
Nothing of danger! He is torn, he is shaken.
He asked for you.

LUCREZIA.
I will go straight.

BISHOP OF VENOSA.
No, no, Madonna,
He is asleep, and even your steps would rouse him!
He will demand you later as his nurse,
His cook, his smiling comfort. God be thanked!

[They pass out.
LUCREZIA.
I am so thankful . . .
That chasm—the marbles in their deadly blocks,
I feel them as their falling were on me.
Cesare!

[He comes out of the chamber.
CESARE.
Pearl, how white!

LUCREZIA.
But you are whiter far. You are not hurt?
Cesare, are you reeling? Take my hand.

CESARE.
Nothing—a chasm .... As from the pit of hell,
When I look up through this destruction, up!
I will not look. It is all over now;
That snatch of Chaos is an empty mouth.
The tower fell—four were killed above this room;
No matter there, nor who .... But have you thought,
Lucrezia, how brief our dazzled hours?
This tower a'crumble, had it buried him,
Instead of bruising! Diva, we are gods,
But all Olympus perishes with Jove,
And Jove we know must perish. Come away!
I will conduct you.

LUCREZIA.
No, no, Cesare.
There will be need to swiftly publish forth
A Brief to calm the people from their fear.

CESARE.
Lucrezia, but you lay
The cool of softest snow to my hot brain.
Our Queen of Beauty love you!

LUCREZIA.
Take some wine—
The light, white wine .... To-morrow we shall laugh
At this big rent.

CESARE.
Avernus, we shall laugh!

[They go out, the wind blowing on them from the gap.

SCENE II

The Vatican—a Loggia. Don Alfonso and Donna Lucrezia Borgia d'Aragon are seated together. There are peaches on a golden dish by them, a golden wine-jug and goblet. Two quails and a peacock sun themselves on the ground. A monkey plays with the ribbons of the Duchess's dress; she wears white, with a green and gold veil twisted in her long hair.
LUCREZIA.
Why do you sigh?

ALFONSO.
You are so full of bliss—
You contemplate me as I were a jewel.

LUCREZIA.
You are, and mine.

ALFONSO.
Why, you have many jewels.

LUCREZIA.
The gift of others: but this jewelled thing
Is you. Alfonso!—and the painters say
You are the loveliest boy in Italy.
You sigh again—why do you sigh? You shall not.

[She caresses him and offers him half of a peach.
ALFONSO.
Ay, half—
Half of a pleasure! I would have you all,
And always. If I am to stay in Rome
Is it to shun your brother up and down
The streets of Rome, so to escape temptation?
Even yesterday ... Lucrece, he concentrates
Such fury in me as I look on him
I shiver, and for hours, after long hours
I find myself still trembling.

LUCREZIA.
[With deep acquiescence.]
Yes ....

ALFONSO.
And you can suffer
That I should bear the insult of his carriage;
That is the wound: no flashing from your lips,
When I am injured, and no least regret
When you are summoned from me to confer
With His Holiness apart, or by his side
Parry the orators when they grow angry,
And growl from their chafed monarchs.
If to please you
I stay in Rome . . .

LUCREZIA.
[Laying her hands firmly over his.]
You are too young, impatient,
To bear long audience of the orators.
[Twining her arm in his.]
But come—why will you speak of yesterday
Or of to-morrow? It is midsummer;
Lucrezia is your own, Lucrezia
So blissful in your arms that, malcontent,
You sigh.

ALFONSO.
I would you loved me less, I would
You did not hold me here as in your clutches.
Midsummer! I shall never see my own:
I have seen you. Beauty, you have no season,
Nor warmth, I think; you are a cruel goddess,
That loves her mortal, and can let him die,
Her fit of doting ended.

LUCREZIA.
Will you quarrel?

[The Pope's voice is heard calling through the halls.
ALEXANDER.
Where is she?
Lucrezia, Lucrezia! My little nurse!
Lucrezia!

[He enters.
LUCREZIA.
[Rising with Alfonso.]
We are here, dear father.

ALEXANDER.
Ha!
Feast of S. John, is this austerity?
Skinning cool peaches in a vestibule?
You should have seen the bull-fight, my fair Spaniard.
Cesare ....
But he is Hercules! There, in his doublet,
With his short sword he faced five bulls.
I watched
The issue, not the contest; for ... conceive!—
Five spurting carcases, the animals
So swiftly struck one could not draw one's breath
Between the passes. But the beasts were slain
Before his presence as in sacrifice!
The bloody smoke rose up as to a god.
Ah, little Spaniard, and you kept the hour
Toying with Naples.
[He gives a chuckling whistle.]
An arena, child—
Above a reeking tiger there was silence
When Commodus, the golden-haired, stood up;
But when our Spada smote, and at one blow down tumbled
A huge, protesting head, the multitude
Lifted a crowd of shouts into the sky,
And saw no more; hearing was everywhere.
Then, as the noise grew thinner, he emerged
In beauty ... oh, an athlete! oh, a David!

ALFONSO.
You must record this as a miracle.
Does it belong, your Blessèdness,
To Pagan legend or the Church?

LUCREZIA.
To us.
But I repent I did not see him there,
Magnificent before all Rome.

ALEXANDER.
You sparkle!
I pardon you. He scarcely will.

[The Pope nods his head and rises to go.
LUCREZIA.
[Detaining him.]
A peach! . . .
It is a little fountain
That grottoes under cloud of this red skin.
There, father, from my hand.
[The Pope seats himself again.
And this dear Cesare,
You will no more reproach him,
When he grows dull and drowses in the sun:
We let our lions drowse.

ALEXANDER.
[Eating the fruit.]
Delicious!
So cordial in its essence it revives,
But sets the senses light enough to slumber.
We let our lions drowse . . .
I am drowsing now;
A midsummer sweet napping. Guard my rest,
Bright angels!
Nay, Alfonso, do not budge.
I shall be fast asleep.

[The Pope falls asleep; at intervals he snores.
LUCREZIA.
[To Alfonso.]
Dear Blessèdness,
How could you flee from him? Look, there is kindness
In every crease of his face; look at his lips
That almost bubble in his sleep with mirth
And comfort that he takes in every pleasure.
He never could make sorrowful, Alfonso.

ALFONSO.
I did not flee from him.

LUCREZIA.
But you make sorrow,
Alfonso, with your fears. You are growing restless,
Restless again.
On this midsummer-day
When even the little demons of the wood
Are turned delighted into lovers' elves,
When all things take enchantment, even sin,
And pardon waits if one should sin too deep
[Pointing to the Pope.]
Of Heaven itself, shall we not be content?
Shall we not cease from talking?

ALFONSO.
[Vehemently drawing her to his breast.]
While he sleeps.

SCENE III

An apartment next to the Borgia Tower, which is reached by a passage on which the door gives. Don Michelotto Corella stands in the centre, the door being open. Suddenly Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna comes to him in a blaze of passion.
CESARE.
Eigh, Michelotto, shall a vermin kill?
Conceive! Alfonso flicked me with an arrow,
Shot from the chamber where Lucrezia watches.

MICHELOTTO.
The Duchess did not see?

CESARE.
It makes no matter,
It is of no account .... Swift, Michelotto,
A rope .... Conceive! This little pipe of breath,
This spawn, this Naples sought the overthrow
Of my large destinies ... and his kind Duchess
Simmers the pipkin that he may not die
Of poisoned food! Not even the sharp vendetta
Of the Sanseverini fallen upon him
A month ago has mangled him to death;
He keeps his tower, mending his wounds apace.
But, swish!—an arrow flies to end me .... Ecco!
She is hard by, the silky wife grown fulsome,
Dragged on a husband's chain. Swift, Michelotto, swift!

MICHELOTTO.
The poignard or the little rope? I serve you
Close as my bone to flesh.

CESARE.
So God in silence
Contracts with San Michele. Die for me—
You were not such a fool! I choose who dies.
Fetch me your instruments—the steel, the rope.
Quick, and return!
[Exit Michelotto.
I wait a thousand years!
Aha, Carlotta, little Sancia too!
Ay, and Lucrezia ... she can watch so much,
I doubt not she was watching when he shot:
She would not warn me—she has seen so much,
And never stirred in tongue or eye .... But listen!
[He bends his ear toward the door.
I hear the cooing voice; she sings to him.

[Lucrezia's voice is heard from the Borgia Tower.
Sweetest Mother,
Thy suit is won:
Flowers for thee,
Flowers for thy Son,
Flowers at thy knee
For the Trinity!

[CESARE.]
She is soothing him with little, airy notes,
Like the rustle of the leaves.
[Re-enter Michelotto. Cesare opens his hands for the dagger and cord.
O Michelotto,
These jewels
Have never shone so bright—steel, steel, and necklets
Twisted and coiled so deftly round the throat
The breath heaves up—then plumb back to its void.
Conceal yourself .... I drag the women out ....

MICHELOTTO.
My lord, I cannot warrant
Some little noise may lucklessly escape.

CESARE.
Myself I will be present if you palter,
Will watch his features crying for the air.
Swift, swift—

[He goes into the Borgia Tower.
MICHELOTTO.
His fangs drip blood!
But she shall not suspect.
To the dark with me.

[He thrusts the door wide open into the passage and hides behind it.
Duke Cesare re-enters, his right arm round Donna Lucrezia Borgia d'Aragon, while his left hand grips Donna Sancia Borgia, Princess of Squillace. The door is fastened behind them by Michelotto.
SANCIA.
Loose, loose! It bites my wrist.
Why do you bring us here?

LUCREZIA.
You said that we must come.

SANCIA.
Let loose; loose, Cesare!

CESARE.
[To Lucrezia.]
Sit there ....
[To Sancia.]
You writhing viper.
I fling you off!

[He pushes her away. She is at the door, trying the handle.
LUCREZIA.
What is it?

CESARE.
What?—White eyes, who shot the arrow?

LUCREZIA.
Alfonso—

CESARE.
In your sight!

LUCREZIA.
[Stroking him.]
Your brow, your cheeks, your hands.
No blood .... Alfonso—

CESARE.
Do you plead for him?

LUCREZIA.
You are safe ....

CESARE.
You sang to him. Is that your triumph?

LUCREZIA.
That you were safe ....
The little song .... I sang it to myself.
I sang ....

[A cry is heard.
CESARE.
Fool Michelotto!

SANCIA.
[Breaking from the door, and crying to Lucrezia.
Can you not hear? Do you not understand?
Are you of flesh or stone? They are killing him,
As they killed Giovanni ....
[To Cesare.]
Murderer! For I know,
Ah, now I know you are his murderer.
You did the deed—you, you!
She can forgive a brother's death: I cannot!
I am blood of Naples, and will be avenged.

LUCREZIA.
Alfonso!

[She sits motionless.
SANCIA.
Ay, Alfonso! He is murdered.
I will be heard!
[She beats on the door.
Lucrece, Lucrece! She could divorce one husband:
Oh, she can sever! ... Cold as death her eyes
Beat on me. O Lucrezia, do you hear?
[She mutters.
They are murdering my brother—he is murdered.
Now all is gone to silence ....

[She sinks down in her sobs.
CESARE.
[To Lucrezia.]
Star, you fade!
[Lucrezia, who has been looking up into Cesare's face, falls into a swoon.
Donna Angela Borgia and Donna Catilena de Valence rush in, pressing the bolt aside: there is blood on the skirt of one of them. Awed by Cesare's aspect, they remain without speaking. Sancia springs through the open door with a cry.
[Cesare sways Lucrezia toward the Maids of Honour.
There, take her, Angela—she clings ....

LUCREZIA.
[Coming to herself and looking round.]
Alfonso?

CESARE.
Cesar ... but weep your tears, your destined tears.

[He goes toward the door.
LUCREZIA.
[Moving from Angela and following Cesare, with a cry.
Alfonso!

ANGELA.
Has she lost her wits?

CESARE.
[Arrested.]
How wondrous
She is! And she is wailing for a ghost!

LUCREZIA.
[With the same cry.]
Alfonso!

[He turns away as she almost touches him and quickly leaves her.
ANGELA.
[With a gesture after Cesare.]
Gone! . . .
Look at her, look! She rises like a nymph
In a cloud of water—look!

CATILENA.
She is parted from us ....

LUCREZIA.
[Suddenly falling from her height full length on the ground.
Jesu miserere!

SCENE IV

The Stanze, Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna's new apartments in the Vatican.
The Lord Alexander VI. has penetrated into them and looks round.
ALEXANDER.

At last I have lodged him in the Vatican! But this is
pleasure! ... There is perfume in the rooms—the first
scent of jasmine? No, but his balls of perfume ranged
already in their order ....

[Laughing as a two-year-old child crawls up to him from a tapestry.
Ah, ah, and the babe too!—Giovanni! ... So
I named him, so, to speak once more the name.
[The child reaches up to him.
Blue eyes! Come, come, no tears!
Angel, I cannot be your nurse, I cannot.
[He passes on, slipping a rosary into the child's lap.
How he inhabits
The air he breathes ... no need of clothing here,
Embellishments and laces—all is Cesare,
His lusts, his pride, his loneliness ....
[The Pope sits down and sighs twice or thrice heavily, drumming with his fingers on the table: then he catches sight of a design for Cesare's new scutcheon. He speaks in gasps.
Aut Cesar—fie! Aut nihil! He is Cesar;
Duke of Romagna first,
My bastard!—presently
King of all Italy. Am I, indeed, his father?
But if I am not, Roman Jupiter
Stole to my couch and got him such a son
As the whole earth acclaims. More beautiful
He is growing day by day. We interact;
We are together, or, if separate—
He breeding armies and I breeding gold—
What colloquy at nightfall .... And submissive,
He is submissive toward me as Lucrece.
What children these have been to me!
Enter Donna Fiammetta: she is a tall, perfectly fair young creature, of great dignity. She kneels.
Ah, Fiammetta, welcome!
Nay, 'tis your right, child .... Here I am intruder,
In the Lord Cesar's absence. Take my blessing.

FIAMMETTA.
[As she rises.]
Lord Cesare bade me this hour . . .

[The Child cries. Fiammetta, looking for consent to the Pope, lifts the little Prince in her arms.
ALEXANDER.
It is
The hour for worship. With discretion, child,
You soon will be the mistress of a king.
[Fiammetta winces.]
Madonna!
How like, how like! You are good. Why should you blush?
You are good and honest ... and a strength of heart
Is in you to bear princes. You will suckle
One day a playmate for this royal child,
Infans Romanus!

FIAMMETTA.
[Looking round in terror.]
The Lord Cesare
Bade me attend . . .

ALEXANDER.
Scared at the Vatican,
Seat of the gods, sweet child, and seat of Him
Whose first command is Multiply! These chambers
Are given to my son. But all these motley walls
We will have re-created—fading frescoes,
Of hands that moulder ... We will have your Cesar—
Nay, we will have yourself set on a throne,
Or rising 'mid the lilies ... not historic:
In history there is no art; and life
Is life and death, and never resurrection.
My fair Fiammetta, we will have you painted.
There is a prayer in your bright eyes—

FIAMMETTA.
Lord Cesare . . .
And represented as King Solomon.

ALEXANDER.
[Patting her on the back.]
Assuredly ... while David rests with God.
[The Pope continues rubbing the frescoes with his hands.
All new—
I will make all things new.

Cesare enters hurriedly and is already some distance in the room, when he sees the Pope, Fiammetta and the Child. He stops dead, and remains immovable. Under his eyes Fiammetta puts the Child down and goes out. The Child watches the Pope and Cesare round-eyed, then creeps to the curtains and plays with the heavy tassels. The Pope stands, with wrinkled forehead, uneasy.
CESARE.
[With a wide smile.]
You know that Prince Alfonso has been killed?

ALEXANDER.
[Trembling.]
Killed?
The boy was up and dressed, and felt his feet
For the first time to-day .... Why do you stand there
So overwhelming in your aspect, lofty
As you had won a fortress? On my soul,
And by the Holy Fisherman I swear,
You frighten me .... And I regret the lad—
A pretty, flaunting flower of pomegranate
Jerked from the bough ....
[Cesare remains immovable, muttering oaths between his teeth.
But we must cloak this death.
[Laying his hand on Cesare.]
I will not listen; it is policy
In most things to be ignorant .... You, Cesare,
Must have the ordering of the funeral.
Poor lad! A restless creature, like a dog
That strays about your hearth, and may be here
To-morrow or be gone—Satan that wanders
The earth alone knows where ... But murdered!
I think I will not know; my ears refuse
All knowledge from you ... We must cloak this death
Among ourselves.

[The Pope turns away tottering.
CESARE.
We cannot:
For his physicians said he would not die,
But live, as pertinacious as a weed.
It cannot and it shall not be a secret
Why he was killed.

ALEXANDER.
[Turning sharply back on Cesare.]
By whom?

CESARE.
By me.

[Alexander covers his face. A strange sound, half-moan, half-sob, breaks from him. There is long silence; then the Pope looks at Cesare with a pale, aged face.
ALEXANDER.
The boy
Was young and fair; but scarcely crossed your path.

CESARE.
His stealthy arrow did; he let it whizz
Across the garden as I trod the grass.
Such little splits of wood may in a moment
End years of ripening fame. A month ago
The hurried marble thundered down on you,
To-day an arrow swept my hair. Say, Holiness,
Would you prefer to have that lad of Naples
Teasing your moments with his fears and murmurs
Or me shot dead, our dead dreams under me?

ALEXANDER.
My tawny Splendour, wherefore ask?

CESARE.
[Spreading his palms.]
Then wherefore?

ALEXANDER.
Cesare, the avowal!

CESARE.
I killed in self-defence?

ALEXANDER.
Son, that you killed ....
Well, it is done!
Well, it is done!

CESARE.
And if your Holiness
Will deign to listen—do not let the tongue
Be running and returning like a wheel:
All gossip of my action,
If you refrain, will end within his grave.
Unless you speak there cannot be an echo.

ALEXANDER.
Ay, ay—die out—the gossip will die out;
Ay, ay, if you would have it so . . .
The vaults? For we must bury him in private.

CESARE.
[As he nods.]
Without bell-ringing and a storm of dirges.

ALEXANDER.
Lucrece!
Ah, she will weep her eyes out: rain, rain, rain,
Above this broken flower, this bridegroom.

CESARE.
Banish her.

ALEXANDER.
I could not bear to see a lifelessness
Of sorrow in the dear one.

CESARE.
Banish her.
Unless you banish her,
The Vatican nor any street in Rome
Will see me.

ALEXANDER.
She shall spend her tears at Nepi,
At Nepi—my own gift to her—no exile!
She shall retire where she is Governor,
Attended and in honour. La, sweet child!
The iris-sprinkled side-locks, amber sheaves,
A widow's! She, a dove of desert-waters,
A widow!

CESARE.
Let her keep
Her dule 'mid dead volcanoes!

[He catches up the child, tosses it, and tumbles it on a couch against a large piombo cat.
ALEXANDER.
[As if watching.] . . .
Figliuolo,
Luck is your Guardian Angel! Have you thought
Romagna needs protection against Venice,
Romagna that so soon will be your own?
The Estes of Ferrara ... could we mate
Lucrezia with the princely house! Ah, then, to northward
You were impregnable. The heir is named
Alfonso .... To a woman there is matter
Of comfort in a name. For poor Alfonso—
God rest his soul!—who now is lying dead,
Alfonso d'Este shall be sought for her.

CESARE.
[Abruptly leaving his game with the child and animal.
Has Lord Gianstefano Ferreri yet
Paid down the sum due for his Cardinalate?
I want the money.

ALEXANDER.
[In a murmur.]
Such a tiger-clutch
Upon our treasuries! Fio di putta,
Bastardo!...More, more, more,
As I made gold for Mommus!

CESARE.
Can I
Found you a power in your estates and cities
Without the wages of my soldiers? Sooner
I would pawn my Indian rubies
And ceremonial pearls than let my army
Starve for its hire. Ten thousand ducats—

ALEXANDER.
[Passing his hand across his brow.]
I am coining day and night and in my dreams:
I cannot .... I am bare
Of treasure, save these vestments that the Church
Casts on my poverty. I have no jewels,
No raiment, no reserve ....
But Cardinal Lopez
Is fading every day.

CESARE.
I cannot wait.

ALEXANDER.
Pish! You shall have the wages. But last evening
You plained you needed more artillery,
And Messer Leonardo would be idle
Among the forts unless I furnished you—
Fate will: for Lopez dies.
These busy Cardinals
Build each a piece of honeycomb in mass
Sufficient .... Why, Michele, Giambattista
Orsini, and Ferrari
Have sweet within their cells for all Romagna.
Ah, we shall need
More than the harvest of the Jubilee,
A tithe, a fresh Crusade .... What else?

CESARE.
[In a vibrating voice.]
The King of France
Sanctions my new campaign. I kissed his envoy,
Lifting my mask off—father.

ALEXANDER.
He grants you freedom, will molest no more?
My policy of months confirmed!

CESARE.
And seldom
Has France been so outwitted. Now you are laughing?
I curse them, to the very lees of laughter,
These dung-hill French, that I must fight beside.
—Ah, now your eye is caught by the escutcheon,
Our challenge!

ALEXANDER.
[Shaking his head.]
Flagrant blazoning! Christ Jesus!
Yet if you are not Cesar—nihil, nihil!
Come with me to the treasury.

CESARE.
And silence,
Silence and secrecy about this death.

ALEXANDER.
[Making a step back, as if from a gulf.]
Cesare, but you sway me like your mother,
When she inhabited my will. Ah, God!
My Captain and my Gonfalonier
Suppling my nature like a mistress, fah!
Come with me .... Take the gold!

SCENE V.

Suor Lucia in a cave beneath the heights of Nepi. She is dressed as a penitent: before her is a crucifix.
SUOR LUCIA.
I would that I had kept it in my heart,
Even as that other secret. Christ's dear wounds
Printed on me! And now the multitude
Would see the trace and crowd up to my cavern,
I do not want the impress any more:
I do not want the crowd,
Nor anything to happen any more.
[Donna Lucrezia Borgia d'Aragon enters and bows low before her. She rises and makes salutation.
Most noble princess,
pray you, by your sorrows, let me be.
I have no signs to show you.

LUCREZIA.
Let me lay
My hands against your hands.

SUOR LUCIA.
[Astonished.]
Then you believe?

LUCREZIA.
And you will pray for me?

SUOR LUCIA.
The stigmata—
Would you receive them?

LUCREZIA.
I am with the lost.
Give me these hands,
And let me stroke them up and down.
This land
Of the Dies Irae, O this bitter land!
The hills
Heavy with crusted blood, the streams that hiss
So low, as if from pits of hell—this land!

SUOR LUCIA.
[Slowly watching her.]
You would win pardon? Do not be afraid ....
The Lord was there;
In purple and in darkness.

LUCREZIA.
Oh, I would feel the wounds!

[As kneeling, Lucrezia rests her head against Suor Lucia, a profound peace settles on her, and she falls asleep.
SUOR LUCIA.
But this is perfect faith, a miracle.
My hands are coarse and hard and only striped
Where I have touched the oxen's leather thongs.
She does not ask for any history,
Or trouble me to hope.
[Lucrezia opens her eyes and smiles.
You smile: you have had dreams?

LUCREZIA.
[Rising.]
No: I have rested, I have been asleep.
I am governor
Of this drear Nepi. Where you have found peace,
None shall disturb you; none shall take away
This peace, or question. I am Governor.

[She embraces Suor Lucia, and, still smiling, passes out.

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.

CRISTOFERO.
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.

DON FEDERICO.
[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,
This land that gapes on me? And there are chasms,
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.

HIERONYMA.
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!

CRISTOFERO.
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 ....

LUCREZIA.
[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.

LUCREZIA.
[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
And silent creature that creates the air
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.

SCENE VII

The Hills of Romagna. Sheepfolds and Shepherds; Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna lying down in the midst of them.
SHEPHERD.
.... You are our shepherd
And ruler of our flocks: we are your flock.

AN OLD SHEPHERD.
Signore, I am happy, being blind
To sit in the sun: I feel you are the sun.

A YOUNG SHEPHERD.
Lord Duke, you are our shepherd—
The reason this, that we forget our flocks,
And yet our flocks graze placidly and seek
The shadow and the stream as they were led.

A FATHER.
You are our king; you have danced with us—our maidens
Consent to any yoke, for by-and-by
They will bear children you will train in arms.

TWO SHEPHERDS.
[Speaking together.]
We are your kingdom, and we worship you.
You have made us as a flock.

A YOUNG GOAT-HERD.
[With a flute.]
You are secret
As the god Pan was secret to the folds.
Lord Cesare, we love you.

CESARE.
[Touching the lad's flute.]
And the flute.

[The Lad bursts into tears; one by him, his companion, says:
SHEPHERD.
He cannot sing the kings: it is in battle
When we hiss down in rage to die for them
Our blood runs music.

CESARE.
You shall die in battle.

ALL THE SHEPHERDS.
We will all die: we will all live for you,
Ready to die;
Though we lie down, encompassing a city,
Beneath your rule we can lie down in peace.

CESARE.
You are my chosen warriors.

A CROWD OF SHEPHERDS.
We are your shepherds, we must stay at home;
We cannot leave our flocks.

CESARE.
You are Romagna,
You are my people.

OLD SHEPHERD.
We are his people: we are Italy.
He consecrates us too; he loves the valleys
Where we rear up our lambs and sing our loves.
[They all gather round as if longing for some outbreak of their enthusiasm.
What shall we do? Beat on our castanets,
Fall on our knees, bring tribute? ... But our prince
Has infinite treasure.

CESARE.
You shall keep my castles.
You are my garrisons; while you defend them
I shall rest quiet, all Romagna mine.

[Rising.
THE FLUTE-BOY.
You will not go from us?

CESARE.
First, I command a song.

[He sits down again, expectant. The Boy sobs; then, fixing his eyes on the Duke, pauses, and after a few moments sings out shrilly.
THE FLUTE-BOY.

[The Shepherds all weep.
CESARE.
[Embracing the boy.]
A master!—he shall sing you all I am.
And now I pass to Rome, without farewell,
For I am dwelling here and in your midst,
And with you through all ages, in your music,
Your sorrows, with the shadows on the hills,
So close to you, a presence in your hearts.
O my Romagna, there is no farewell!

[Exit.
A SHEPHERD.
He has slipped away: I knew he was a god.
Boy, are you stricken? You should look up proudly.

THE BOY.
[Taking up his flute and looking after Cesare.
I am stricken to the heart; he is a god.