 | Borgia |  |
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ACT IV
SCENE I
The Vatican: a Loggia.Donna Lucrezia Borgia d'Aragon is seated between her Maids of Honour, Donna Angela Borgia and Donna Catilena de Valence, while her Maid Clarice pours wine on her long hair.
LUCREZIA.
My head aches.
CLARICE.
Soon her Excellence
Will feel relief.
ANGELA.
You look a wave-drenched siren
In those long folds of hair cloyed with the honey
By which the lees of the white wine cling close.
The sun is brilliant!
CATILENA.
And it was kindly done
To save us freckles by the grace of hats
Worn in the presence. Ah, sweet Pope,
Until his Holiness returns to-day
Venus is Sovereign of the Church, its princes
Her laughing hierophants, the Sacred College
Her Loves, her Doves, her Swallows, what you will,
All twittering of her till the air is crazy,
And every breeze a gossip.
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Hush!
A pretty jest—
But when it thundered yesterday I sobbed,
And headache like a terror hung on me
All the night long .... I am a daughter
Guarding her father's house—the Universe:
I am no Pope, and, though the Cardinals
Laugh gallantly or slyly, though I laugh
At all the salt and spice of travesty,
Yet this obedience to my father's will
Has turned my prayers to stone.
Dear girls,
Here at the toilet let me be a woman,
Whose handmaid forehead the triregno's weight
Burthens to faintness.
Clarice, did you bruise
The celandine and greater cleaver's madder
The full time Messer Giambattista Porta
Ordains?
CLARICE.
Before you climbed up to the sun,
The roots were bruised and mixed with cummin-oil,
The boxwood slivers and the saffron, Donna.
LUCREZIA.
Then lay our compound on ....
The Envoy from Ferrara cannot enter,
Nor my two Cardinal Secretaries, until
You draw my hair out through the crownless hat,
And spread it like a halo on the brim.
[Clarice dyes her golden hair deeper.
ANGELA.
There is a whisper that the Duke was seen,
Masked, at dead midnight ....
LUCREZIA.
[Starting.]
He will keep his chamber;
He sleeps by day. I were ashamed
To play to him the Pope of Christendom;
I could not play it—I should flow no laughter.
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For Messer Saracini and his news
Of when I shall be married.
Angela
How long, how long I wait!
A woman is a prisoner till a husband
Unlock her to her aim. When I am giddy
With dancing for my father, I recall
What Messer Saracini tells me often
Of the quiet, ordered court and the proud pomp
Of the old Este castle .... Don Alfonso,
So full of occupation with his cannon,
Artillery as brilliant as my brother's;
But he himself in careless trim, as sons
Of an old princely house may dare to be.
Clarice, my tresses wide as sun-rays!
[Her hair is spread over a frame.]
Bid
The Chamberlain bring Messer Saracini.
[Exit Clarice.
ANGELA.
A tent of yellow silk! I peep at you,
White, captive lady, Don Alfonso's bride.
LUCREZIA.
Hush, hush!
Enter Messer Saracini with Clarice.
SARACINI.
Most humble greeting!
Duke Ercole informs your Excellence
This week the wedding-train forsakes Ferrara.
[The Maids of Honour clap their hands.
[Lucrezia springs up, snatching the hat-brim from her hair, which streams round her in dripping gold, as she childishly dances in a giddy circle.
[She pauses breathless and laughing before Messer Saracini.
LUCREZIA.
Ah, you bring joy!
And joy is in my feet as in the lyre-strings
The golden music.
Messer Saracini,
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Oh, caught in dancing as a mermaiden,
And carried to Ferrara! Shortly
His Holiness will enter Rome, and shortly
The bells will clamour joy above our heads
Till the air dances, and the sunshine dances!
Girls, I will send my jester
Dressed in my newest clothes—the gold-scaled petticoat,
And crimson sleeves—to dance out to the people
My joy, and cry up Viva la Duchessa,
Viva il Papa! Girls ....
[To Saracini.]
Oh, you are grave and full of wisdom's smiling
Behind the gravity!
Clarice, my hat!
Tent me again for the Ambassador.
[Clarice spreads her hair once more over the frame.
SARACINI.
Your future father, the Duke Ercole,
Sends me these pearls, his noble Duchess wore,
For Don Alfonso's bride—ancestral pearls,
Not lately sea-washed, held by sovereign fingers
While years made generations.
LUCREZIA.
[Lifting them.]
Golden pearls!
SARACINI.
Duke Ercole informs your Excellence
His health revives.
LUCREZIA.
By letter
Commend me to his Excellence your Duke;
Say, she who is his daughter in her heart
Rejoices for his welfare .... I can nurse ....
[To her Maids.]
Tell Messer Saracini—night and day,
Alone, without repose, I tended
His Holiness when injured by the falling
Of a wind-toppled tower.
To-night
Be present at my ball.
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Most flattered thanks.
ANGELA.
And I will dance with you.
SARACINI.
Day dance as well,
And bring me to that hour, sweet promiser!
[Exit.
ANGELA.
Ha, ha!—the limed, old bird! Ha, ha!
Enter two Cardinals with despatches.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
A post, from Spain.
His Catholic Majesty writes threateningly
Of the French rape of Naples, Holy Father
Assisted through the Duke.
LUCREZIA.
My lord,
His Holiness returns this afternoon;
Await his wisdom.
[Holding out her hair.]
See, is this a Pope?
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
Apollo!
LUCREZIA.
[Smiling.]
Leave him to his spokes.
I will report you diligent, my lords.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
Your blessing, Holy Father!
[Laughing, she gives it.
So the beam
Of heaven bears down a dove.
[Kissing her finger-tips.
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Your blessing!
Christ heal me!
[He lays his hand on his heart and goes out with Cardinal Segovia.
LUCREZIA.
Clarice, I am almost dozing!
This gold sun heaps me with such weight of gold.
Leave me and lay out the white satin robe—
No, for a warmth may rest upon my whiteness
A little space: I dance to-night in black,
With rubies of their violence grasping pearls,
With these ancestral drops of my old duchy.
Give me the verses on our Borgian Bull
That Porcius wrote—that little book. My eyes
Will rest on it half-closed and full of ease,
As sunny cats that stretch themselves to dream.
[They go out.
How strange!
I feel as I should never grow a woman
Save at Ferrara, miles away from Rome.
Alfonso does not love me—every day
Humiliates my humbler race, is fearful
I shall be found in nature sinister
And fatal .... But I am not so, and therefore
He cannot find that I am anything
But just his young Lucrece, he soon will love,
As creatures sent for gifts, if they are gentle,
Are cherished in reception .... Oh!
A masked figure glides in behind and she suddenly hears a voice.
VOICE.
Amanda!
LUCREZIA.
[To herself.]
Castelian! ... One, one voice ....
CESARE.
Amanda?
LUCREZIA.
You,
Cesare! You are come?
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I cannot see:
Is there a smile behind these rays or no?
Is it dark weather, masks—or lip to lip?
LUCREZIA.
Your voice ... I lost my breath
To welcome you.
CESARE.
Then to black hell my mask!
[He throws it away and kneels.
O Excellency of Ferrara, have I
Come here too late? Do all the Cupids
Hold over this white, little face the saffron
Of Hymen's veil already? But I dare
A kiss beneath this gold, although Alfonso
Lose one sweet, nuptial joy . . .
Ah, the beretta
Must off in blaze of noon, if I would reach
Beneath your brim. [Holding her chin.]
Return my happiness!
[They kiss.
What strands of amber! O magnificence!
My blond is grey-ashamed to touch such yellow
Of crocus triumph. So it seems my sister
Will be a sovereign Duchess.
LUCREZIA.
Cesare,
This Este marriage—you would prosper it?
CESARE.
My fortress!
Behind your towers Venice can rage and curse ....
But there is joy beyond—we shall be neighbour-princes,
Romagna in your sight as you look out,
And you in reach if I should mount a horse.
Rome will be left, but not the Duke, your brother,
We cannot be divided .... Holiness!
[He laughs mockingly.
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You must not, Cesare .... Had you been home
The Holy Father had not set me up ....
It burns me!
[She lifts her hands to her face.
CESARE.
Curse the folly!
To make a jest of you—our secret! You
To be a Pope, a Governor—my secret
Of the veiled hours, of the sealed lips!
Our father can be garrulous in action
As well as tongue. Forget, forget, love-goddess,
All but the whelming sea-deep and your pearls!
[He lifts the great Este necklace from her knee.
Cloud, cloud, be dumb, my moon—shine under cloud!
...Were letters sent from Spain?
LUCREZIA.
I would not read them.
CESARE.
We will receive them presently and answer.
LUCREZIA.
I marvel
To see you up and in the morning sun.
CESARE.
I waked—then heard you sat against the sun,
Fixed to one spot in glory.
LUCREZIA.
And the wars?
CESARE.
—Gained me Faënza, Castel-Bolognese,
Corneto, Piombino: for the French
I entered Capua ....
LUCREZIA.
And you were cruel there.
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Transcendently. Naples is crushed to earth,
Is gone, stamped French in bloodshed.
That vendetta
I look on, round and perfect—Naples,
That once eclipsed my moon and shot its arrow
Athwart my omen, Naples
Hurled down as throne and kingdom!
LUCREZIA.
Cesare! My hand—
You grasp as if to break .... Your long, white hand!
CESARE.
It hurts? Lucrece, I rule at Pesaro.
LUCREZIA.
Well, dear, you need not look so venomous.
You rule—where is it that you do not rule?
[The cannon of Sant' Angelo boom and the bells ring. Lucrezia and Cesare lean over the parapet together; he gently pushes back the straw brim round her forehead and kisses her many times; then he quickly descends.
SCENE II
The Vatican: Sala dei Pontifici.A brilliant assembly. The Pope is enthroned: in front of him is a table on which is set a great jewel-case. To the left are the Cardinals; to the right Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna, in cloth of gold and pearls. Before the table Donna Lucrezia Borgia d'Aragon, in cloth of gold and pearls, a black ribbon confining her hair, receives the nuptial ring of Don Alfonso d'Este from the hands of his brother the Lord Cardinal Ippolito d'Este.
IPPOLITO.
With all his heart the illustrious Don Alfonso
Sends by my hand this ring.
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With all my heart
I take this ring.
[Cardinal Ippolito puts it on her finger.
ALEXANDER.
So now we are made an Este!
Donna Lucrezia Borgia d'Este, come,
The Church enfolds thee dearly.
[He embraces her; then she stands by him at her brother's side.
Lord Ippolito,
Open the nuptial gift, Duke Ercole's.
IPPOLITO.
Fair sister, white as moonlight for the stars,
Would in this prison all the constellations,
That dew the paths of heaven when Luna shines,
Were clustered for your taking! Fair,
How you would set with twisted gold Orion,
And all the planets from the rubious Mars
To emerald-dartling Mercury. O Fair,
We are not gods to homage our Elect,
To wrench the sky and rob its flowering lights;
But all that mines and rocks can make eternal
Of those pure rays that span mortality
Are at your feet.
ALEXANDER.
My lord Ippolito,
Your words with admirable beauty heighten
The preciousness of this most precious gift.
[Cardinal Ippolito and the Ferrarese Treasurer open the coffer.
Ha! The lips suck, and even upon the palate
These sparkles dance and twang. Oh, marvellous!
Inert we call this body, yet it seeks
The corners of the chamber as with song;
A voice strikes on our fibres. Cesare,
These rubies .... You are poor!
Collars! Who would not
Be captive to these links?
[Putting one on.]
See, on the breast
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Pearls—the pearls! the pearls!
Soft—ah, but soft. I smile, as old Tithonus
At the rainbow-paps of Dawn. This ring, a woman's,
Can sit on my first joint to pipe its tale
Of shepherds in the showery grass. What joyance,
Heartiness as from cordial-glasses, drunk
By eyes and touch and spirit, in this treasure!
My lord, my lord!
You set resplendent eyes upon the Bride.
Ah, lord Ippolito! Serenely
She gives their posts of beauty to these jewels;
For her they strike and bleed, herself they honour,
For her they strike and bleed, herself they honour,
Their chief ally your gaze.
[The Princes of Ferrara and the Cardinals make their presentations.
Gifts, gifts—more gifts!
The Church, the World munificent.
[Lucrezia smiles and thanks the Princes and Cardinals with deep inclinations.
Burcardus,
Remove the magic table; in its room
We too must weave our magic.
Bring the sweetmeats!
A shower of pleasant hail in these warm bosoms;
Not golden rain of Jove, but feastful sugar ....
[He throws confetti into the bodices of the ladies. Donna Giulia Farnese and some of the fairer among them pelt him back.
LUCREZIA.
[Softly sucking a sweetmeat.]
My lord Ippolito, this crucifix,
And this, and this—your gifts ... they will know my hand
Close as the nuptial ring.
IPPOLITO.
Fairest, and most devout!
ALEXANDER.
The floors are clear; and I have my petition.
Cesare, grant us joy! Dance with your sister.
My stars, my Gemini! Lead forth the Duchess ....
Delay? My prayer!
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My prayer!
[Lucrezia lays her hand in Cesare's.
CESARE.
[Laughing and bowing to the Pope.]
The tambourines!
[They dance a slow Spanish dance: as they begin Lucrezia lifts her eyes to Cesare's face, and, looking into each other's eyes, they tread the measure.
ALEXANDER.
[Clapping and humming with delight.
More, more!
Could I but make these orbits everlasting,
God on the Earth had then His praise forever,
His music of the heavens .... My gold stars,
Each with its angel in a glory.
More!
[The dance goes on to music and hand-clapping.
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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SCENE IV
A room in the Castle of Sant' Angelo.The Lord Cardinals Segovia and Michele, Don Michelotto.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
Where is the Duke?
MICHELOTTO.
With Messer Leonardo,
Learning the secret of an engine needing
A fortune for its efficacy. Where,
My lord Martino, is his Holiness?
CARDINAL MICHELE.
Gone with his cousin, it may be to join
Duke Valentino.
MICHELOTTO.
Coming hither
We had encountered.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
Search the armoury.
[Exit Michelotto.
We live and breathe for armaments, for choice
Of this Condottiere or another
To lead them. In two days the Duke will march.
Then news and letters, or discourse of these,
Will fill our ears and fill the Vatican.
His Holiness is chafing, and on fire
With all the wishes of Duke Cesare.
He laughs; but sometimes clouds:
—Comes to the Treasury, then leaves the door
Unopened, and the wrinkles of his face
Take seed of thoughts and teem.
Enter the Lord Cardinal Orsini.
CARDINAL ORSINI.
He is gone below . . .
Gone to the buried rooms where young Astorre,
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Lies captive.
Have you seen the catapult?
It terrorises by its fashion. Come!
[The Cardinals pass out. After a few moments the Lord Alexander VI. and the Lord Francesco Borgia enter together.
ALEXANDER.
Would he were in the Tiber!
A child so fresh and vigorous, a lad
As fair as Alexander, and a fame
As crescent. If we shut him up in marble,
A statue, we were justified: his body
Is of the ageless sculptures.
CARDINAL BORGIA.
Cousin,
You should not seek the prison-cells below.
ALEXANDER.
Our Lord looked on the Spirits shut in darkness:
Scarce He remitted sentence, but His face
Melted the iron; there was Paradise
And fragrance with His breathing.
This Astorre ....
Curse his fell jailor—triple murderer!
CARDINAL BORGIA.
Nay, in defence ....
ALEXANDER.
Of his ambition, of his majesty ....
O Tiber, but you do not heave; your current
Flows smooth!
And I, should not I pardon sin?
Here am I bleeding for his great offences,
With love not strong enough to snatch their load,
And fling them from my sight.
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You have absolved him, Father,
By your great power.
ALEXANDER.
Francesco,
Shall I absolve him with chained hands that tremble
Playing their gest of benison in Hell?
I will look up and curse him where he stands
Among the gods ....
Cousin, there is a succour
I drink of, as St. Bernard drank the breast
Stooped to him in his ecstasy. Our Lady
Keeps me in adoration .... But this Power
That bows us to his ends, as resolute
And cold as growing winter, is a god.
Re-enter Michelotto.
Ah, Lucifer—his creature Michelotto!
I hate these dun, blue eyes:
This executioner, with trains of ghosts
And drops of gore behind him for a trail.
MICHELOTTO.
Your Holiness,
Will you be private with his Excellence?
ALEXANDER.
Cousin, retire!
[Exit Cardinal Borgia.
We are in privacy.
[Michelotto bows and retires. The Pope seats himself.
'Tis Camerino first to be besieged ....
Ah, and the secret spring upon Urbino—
My leopard!—that must come to me as news!
Enter Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna.
Cesare, you have plighted oath of freedom
To that fair boy below.
[Cesare smiles and lifts his shoulders.
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The hour is portioned mine.
Of my demand you listen, Holiness.
[He throws his black velvet cloak at the Pope's feet and lying down props his head against his father's knees.
Aut Cesar,
Aut Nihil! There is danger
From Fortune in this new campaign. My Captains,
The cursed Condottieri,
Are plotting to betray me. Holy Father,
Between us, you and me, there must be action
Of policy as ductile and as cool
As ever was concerted.
ALEXANDER.
True! With France
Incessantly adroit I must secure
Continuance of her aid ....
Danger and treason?
To you, my mystic Angel, treachery?
You take my heart out ....
Mary, Queen of Angels,
Protect our arms, protect my son!
And you—?
CESARE.
[Suddenly on his knees, close to his father's ear.
These mercenaries—Baglioni,
Vitelli, the Orsini, in one grave
Shall sink entrammelled .... Do they know me yet? . . .
And their injurious arms be drawn of sting,
Their troops unweaponed.
ALEXANDER.
Ah!
CESARE.
I shall be slow in this:
You must not press my schemes.
Then I shall muster
Another army, fresh and of my land,
My own Romagnole shepherds from their fells.
These people of the slopes of Apennine
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My Dragon's teeth, my arms of Italy!
ALEXANDER.
And these Romagnole shepherds are my flock;
A spiritual army and a power
To keep you safe.
This combat pleases me;
A conflict in the air—wit against craft!
[Cesare has sunk down again by his father's knee, his eyes lost in dream. Alexander draws his face backward and gazes at him: Cesare smiles languidly.
CESARE.
I have learnt all the Romans and the Grecians
Have taught of armies, of a prince's justice.
Both France and Spain will seek my armaments
To join my powers with theirs.
[Raising himself.]
In this campaign
[Still kneeling, he fixes the Pope with his eyes.
You have your own campaign to wage in peace,
Campaign of death. When I shall give you warning,
Seize the Orsini left in Rome, imprison
Lord Giambattista in the Borgia Tower;
His coffers and proprietorships embrace
Armies and succours.
That great pearl is his,
The cardinal, benign, soft pearl.
ALEXANDER.
Aurora,
The whiteness of its orb!
CESARE.
And he will die.
Aut nihil!
ALEXANDER.
[With a slight shudder.]
Ah! ... Send letters every day.
CESARE.
[Stretching out his hand and taking up a paper lying on the ground.
What is this parchment?
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You have read it,
They told me. 'Tis the libel from Taranto
Sent to Savelli.
Christ, we are a kindred!
Carnage and rapine, perfidy ....
CESARE.
Why mince it?
Assassination, incest!
[Rising from the ground with clenched hands.
ALEXANDER.
But the Latin!
The dulcitude of apophthegm, the style!
What sap in all this rankness. Cesare,
I laughed an hour, applauded with wet eyes—
Literae humaniores—so the salt
Of the strong farce compelled me.
Do you stoop
To anger? Consul Julius Cesar laughed
When choice Catullus spat an epigram,
And dined him that same evening.
CESARE.
Ho, but this poisoned insult
Is danger such as that I have to charm
Out of my army into sepulchre.
The scribblers—fah! the mercenary pens—
Shall have their lesson in good manners: silence
Laid on slit tongue and mutilated hand.
ALEXANDER.
You are too young!
CESARE.
Lampoons
Debase our currency.
ALEXANDER.
Hoo, hoo! [Reading.]
“The New Mahomet,
Antichrist”—with his treasure lumped in jewels
A little Duchess wears. Ha, ha!
121
Plague me no more! You shall find all grown still.
Nascitur magnus ordo ....
But to achieve my work! Italian Vergil,
How much to do, how much! ... I must have time,
Have time before me, a wide path,
A silent; I must have my soldiery,
Sons of the sheepfold, of the vineyard: time
And patience and no noise, no sleep, no hastening,
No languor. This new order is my will;
It is beautiful.
Guard deep my plot, my secret.
We breathe combined?
ALEXANDER.
[Nodding.]
Letters?
CESARE.
[Kissing the Pope's hand.]
Each instant
I need your counsel or may do you good,
Sending good news.
ALEXANDER.
What of that lad below?
CESARE.
[With an amused laugh.]
I shall not take him back to his Faënza.
[Exit.
[His voice outside.]
Don Michelotto!
ALEXANDER.
[Calling.]
Cousin!
[As Cardinal Borgia re-enters.
Quick! quick, Francesco; I am ready.
Give me your escort to the Vatican.
Francesco,
I knew the lad was doomed. God rest his soul!
122
SCENE V
The Castle of the Este at Ferrara: the Duchess's bed-chamber. A group of Monks in the background are holding the parchment of Donna Lucrezia Borgia d'Este's will.Don Alfonso d'Este is seeking to restrain his father, who is making frantic gestures of despair. In the midst of the chamber Donna Lucrezia is extended on a litter-bed.
Two Doctors are anxiously bending over her with appliances for bleeding. One of them uncovers her foot, looks at the patient, then shakes his head despairingly.
Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna stands a little apart, beside the couch.
CESARE.
I shall visit thee again: for that revive!
Open thy eyes, Lucrece.
...Not dare to bleed her!
Give me the little foot ....
No sobs, Alfonso,
For I must have the surety of a smile.
Listen, Lucrece—
[To one of the Doctors, who deprecates speech.
This child is my chief captain,
We must confer. Keep quiet to your work.
[The Doctors operate.
[To Lucrece.]
But if you cannot listen, then remember!
What was my last assault?
LUCREZIA.
On Camerino. . .
Straightway I took a little strength ... the letter—
[She makes a movement towards her pillow.
CESARE.
You do not stir!
LUCREZIA.
An iron-grip, and yet
I do not cry for mercy: it supports.
123
The need is past—and but for mastery
I keep my hold.
I shall visit thee again;
But ere I can make speed I promise thee
Such tidings—!
LUCREZIA.
I am dizzy.
CESARE.
No, Lucrece,
You are not dizzy: for I promise you,
If you will pledge me to remain alive,
That I will vanquish all my enemies.
But I must have the oath.
LUCREZIA.
A prayer—
CESARE.
The oath
LUCREZIA.
I cannot, death is on me .... Oh, I faint ....
[The Doctors press round.]
A cordial ....
CESARE.
No, a treaty!
[He lays the foot tenderly down and comes up close to Lucrezia's ear.
All my foes—
You can lay them in the hollow of my hand;
Or, perishing, you can put out the fires ....
And all the engines of my brain extinct!
LUCREZIA.
What plots? What would you do?
CESARE.
[Bending over her.]
I would fill all your cup.
[In response to a movement from Lucrezia, Cesare
124
The danger is quite passed: let us give thanks.
[He folds Lucrezia's hands for prayer.
LUCREZIA.
[Raising herself.]
The danger is quite passed, and I shall live.
SCENE VI
Sinigaglia: a red sunset over snow. In front the Archway of the Palace; before it Messer Niccolo Macchiavelli meets Don Michelotto da Corella.MICHELOTTO.
See, Messer Niccolo!
We are even with our enemies. This rope—
New rope ... the enemy
Of Florence, Vitellozzo, and with him
Oliveretto soon will tassel it.
Ha, ha!
The false Condottieri in one net,
Fast as the souls in Hell!
MACCHIAVELLI.
The fairest trap set by the coolest hand!
Madonna's blood! Stupendous!—
Tell how the prey was trapped, Don Michelotto.
For since the Duke received me at Cesena
I met delay unlooked for. Artfully
These fools, these traitors had been brought to terms,
Bribes and dissensions seeding in their midst,
Till in mock penitence they won this town:
The Duke had quartered all their troops afar,
On pretext of the ground his troops must cover
When he marched in to hold the citadel—
So much was rumoured at Cesena. Thrill me
To the last fibre of my brain: relate!
125
The crazy fools, the bankrupts
In fortune and in wit!
Our Duke with gentleness, mansuetude
Landed the waverers...His smile—
Had you seen it finger this doomed shoal—his welcome,
His kiss ... the lure, a heavy spell
We, his executants, broke off from, anxious:
Such air a dragon sleeps in. Altogether
Riding, they chatted conquests, paused at last
Outside the palace ... but a smile, the tickle
Of expert angler, and a steady gesture—
Solid they were within, their host excused
For change of dress ....
Then cries, then execrations!
Changed men, our prisoners, in our power, outwitted,
White to the lids—for, Messer Macchiavelli,
They had shaken us with ruin.
MACCHIAVELLI.
True!
Florence—and Rome—believed your master lost!
A captain with no army, with rebellion
The stuff of his command, and France unsure!
He ruled himself as gods do. Of my knowledge,
This lord Duke, divus Borgia, is superb,
Magnificent and in himself a king.
MICHELOTTO.
Messer Ambassador, if thus you worship,
Let Florence strike alliance with my lord:
Your fruitless praise but brings his brow down, shapes
His lips unkindly when the name of Florence
Or that of Messer Niccolo drifts by.
MACCHIAVELLI.
I have written and will write
To Florence and her Gonfalonier.
126
Basta!
Always what you will do, and Florence always
A paralytic!
Messer Macchiavelli,
Your face, while I related, took my eyes,
As you had been a fiery gallant, hearing
His love's deliverance vouched. Will a cold hanging-off
Bring any man to his desire? Satana!
I think your whole of statecraft is the rack;
Your smile puts to the question ... bah, my fingers,
My toes knot under it!
MACCHIAVELLI.
Then leave me, friend,
And knot your rope for Vitellozzo fast,
Fast for Oliveretto.
MICHELOTTO.
[Turning toward the archway.]
Nay—behold!
Enter through the arch Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna, on his white horse, in silver armour, crimsoned, like the snow, with sundown.
MACCHIAVELLI.
Congratulations, Excellence! Believe me,
You have the brightest face in all the world.
CESARE.
Come close!
Your Florence, Messer Niccolo, has reason
To love me: all her petty enemies
Are in this hand for swallowing. Have I not
Betokened what I feed on, by my blazon—
A snake that gorges reptiles? Ha, the meal!
Do you remember
The ogres in our nurses' tales laughed out
Before they gulped? ... To-night, to-night a supper
Of creeping tyrants!
MACCHIAVELLI.
Vitellozzo,
Oliveretto ....
127
Hoo! My appetite!
Let Florence eat with me!
[Closing his eyes and laughing.]
It was a game,
The catching of these imps!
Truth, Messer Niccolo,
I am a boy again!
Ho-heigh! There will be music,
Romagnole pipes ... I love that rocky hills
And streams should be in music ....
Michelotto,
Those rascal French are pillaging—see, there!
Go, hang a dozen, swing them high!
My citizens of Sinigaglia shall not
Be plucked by crows—up with a dozen, high!
[Exit Michelotto.
[To Macchiavelli.]
Tell Florence she had better be my friend
Than enemy.
MACCHIAVELLI.
Always . . .
CESARE
No words—
Eloquent acts like mine! Ingratitude
It were—no less—now I have made this banquet
If Florence show reluctance any more;
And it would be resented.
We must ride
Round to the fortress: as the sun goes down
A conqueror's eye must look upon his army
To rule it as by light ....
And afterward ... ha, ha!
The ogre's banquet, the Romagnole pipes!
Heigh, festa, festa!
[He rides on.
MACCHIAVELLI.
Enchantment take me! What a singular
And terrifying creature! Dragon—yea,
Intelligent and deep; a libbard faithless
As any spotted beast; a Roman Eagle.
He fires me as some sovereign Cleopatra,
128
O my poor Florence,
And I adore your Dread ... ah, but with lust,
Not love, for I could injure him, bring ruin
Upon him, for your sake .... And yet those shoulders
Are high above all princes, Italy!
Those eyes droop over reaches of wide dream;
The hand a vice! Lilies of Florence, day
And night he is my fire; I need no chafing—
Always a fire—not in my heart, good wife,
My scolding Marietta; but in my head;
And all my faculties a throng around it,
With reddened aspect and the cheer of life.
I am bewitched, growing in my enchantment
Magician rather than Ambassador
Of the Signoria: I possess a kingdom;
And, when this Borgia smiles on me, a Prince.
[The sun has set and stars come out over the snow.
SCENE VII
A secret cabinet in the Vatican. A snowy day.The Lord Alexander VI. chafes his hands by a charcoal brazier.
ALEXANDER.
How cold!
[Stirring the fuel.
And cold too in the turret. Ice and fire!
And the ice stronger than the fire—the fire
Mere dying ash!
O God, this Cesar!
Ancient of Days, what art Thou
Except Thou hast a Son executant,
And all Thy crafty thoughts are in His heart?
Ancient of Days!
My forces
Are failing, I have lost my grip. This Cesar ....
Oh, he is tyrant over me! I feel him
As a great stone my heart gives way beneath:
If he encroaches
There will be nothing in my breast but stone.
129
Well, Messer Pincione? Is it cold?
Can you not answer when I question you?
PINCIONE.
Eh, Blessèdness.
I bring this from His Excellence the Duke.
[Giving a letter.
ALEXANDER.
Warm yourself .... [Reading]
.... Mortal cold!
But warm yourself.
Say, Messer Pincione, to your master,
Lord Cardinal Orsini languishes
In the strict prison of the Borgia Tower;
And so has languished
Since his vile traitor-nephew was entangled
At Sinigaglia in the wondrous net.
PINCIONE.
Until he be Death's treasure, can you pounce,
Holiness, on his treasure? Can you feed
The troops that press the verge of Tuscany?
ALEXANDER.
True, true: our Duke requires his requiem, true!
Ah, Sinigaglia; ah, the wondrous net!
And these Orsini—
A brood of enemies, the murderers
It may be of Giovanni .... Ho! what cold! . . .
Well, well!
A cruel kindred, a most wicked race,
Our enemies, our enemies, and worthy
Of death's extinguishing.
[Reading again.
The postscript? Show me
This cantarella.
[Pincione gives him a phial.
Ha! It is like a sugar
Of pearl; like the rare dust that Cleopatra
Drank of a dis-orbed pearl. Its facture? Tell me
The elements, how braised and how compounded?
130
Eh, eh—your Blessèdness.
A boar being killed, and arsenic-poison salted
About the entrails thrown to putrefaction,
From thence at last a liquid is withdrawn
In thrice-stilled deadliness.
ALEXANDER.
The action?
PINCIONE.
Slow,
But sure in death ....
ALEXANDER.
[Calling.]
Poto!
He enters.
Monsignore Burchard
Finds the Lord Cardinal Orsini weary,
And struggling with a pain that trusses him,
A wild-fire inflammation?
POTO.
Sick,
And troubled with a flux.
ALEXANDER.
[Sotto voce.]
Pain—and its end!
PINCIONE.
Your Blessèdness will give authority
For what must intervene?
ALEXANDER.
Good Poto,
Take Messer Pincione to the jailer
Who keeps the Tower. [To Pincione.]
To-night, after the play,
“Epidicus”—I cannot miss the play,
Not for the quick or dead, and lenience,
Some lenience we should give to sluggish nature—
To-night I will receive you privately.
131
Till doomsday with your little heap
Of cruel pearls?
A VOICE.
[Outside.]
A gift for Holy Father!
BURCHARD'S VOICE.
No, boy, go back!
The chamber is deep-secret. On the pain
Of death, go back.
ALEXANDER.
A gift!
Gifts are warm faggots on the winter coldness.
A gift! We will receive it.
Poto, hasten!
Take Messer Pincione to the Tower—
From the Duke Cesare.
[Exit Poto with Pincione.
'Twere merciful!
Queen Cleopatra drank the like for glory,
As this Orsini for his body's ease ....
The cold! How sudden is my age
Upon me as a drift! By all the devils,
I might be turned to stone!
Enter Monsignore Burchard with a Boy.
Sa, sa! My present! Hither!
Anticipation has a zest .... God's rattle,
I am astounded—
This lightsome whiteness! The Orsini pearl,
The well-beloved, the whitest light of pearls,
The sun-confronting rainbows, moist and purple!
Boy, did you steal it?
THE BOY.
No. In his munificence
Lord Cardinal Orsini on his mistress
Bestowed this wonder; at his mother's prayer
It is presented to you for the boon
That she herself prepare his food. O Father,
She fed him in his helpless infancy;
Now, in his danger and imprisonment,
Create for her afresh the power sweet nature
Endowed her with, at need.
132
[Gazing at the pearl.]
Arched, various,
Of shower, of cloud, sun-braving, sun-embroidered,
The breast-drop of a goddess! ... All your prayer!
THE BOY.
The order—now?
ALEXANDER.
The order from my hand.
Poto ....
He re-enters.
Bring pen and parchment.
It wooes—ah, it assails!
[Exit Poto.
Abundance of enchantment!
Poto re-enters.
The paper—so! An order Prius cibum
Et potum ministrare Cardinali.
This charitable Brief well buys such beauty.
Comfort his mother; bid her
Season his dishes, but take cognizance
We must not set our heart upon our sons.
The motherly, rich heart—deny her? Nay,
But I am warmed to hear of such devotion.
A handsome woman too! Her son is sick,
Remember! Addio!
[Monsignore Burchard takes the Boy out.
[Holding up the pearl.]
Sweet child, on thy forehead,
My spotless Este, my far evening-star,
This white crest on thy white!
[He stands absorbed and sad awhile.
Now it comes over me the hand that offered
This pearl, the voice that offered was a woman's.
Venus! Lord Cardinal Orsini's mistress!
A pretty piece of faith. Santi—O Venus,
A kind heart that could lay this wonder out
To buy him wholesome feeding .... Yea, a woman!
I would have kissed the boy had I divined—
A woman! ... Sancta Virgo Virginum,
Foederis Arca, thou hast saved my soul!
Saved of a pearl, Janua Coeli, saved!
I would not take an aged life: I appeal
133
Young, ominous, black raven! He will come
Down on me from his camp: then ... Dio meo!
I would give half my Papacy if never
He might return .... Nay, nay! . . .
Mater Purissima,
O gracious sun-pearl!
[In black, and black mask, Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna glides in, closing the door behind him.
CESARE.
[Without unmasking.]
Splendid! Put it by—
France has forbidden me another stroke
Of arms, and I have ridden
Swift as the wind rides air, by day, by night,
To reach your counsel, fix our policy.
ALEXANDER.
I have found France of late a slackening friend;
And I have dandled Spain and sung her soft;
At the first open moment she is ours.
CESARE.
Spain! You would threaten France?
Diavolo,
It is a game of patience quivering
Upon its leash ....
ALEXANDER.
Are all the rebel-mercenaries slaughtered?
CESARE.
Of the Orsini only one—Giordano
Braves us at Bracciano .... Some one knocks.
Send them away.
[He hides in a further closet.
ALEXANDER.
Enter!
Re-enter Poto.
134
Your Blessèdness,
Lord Cardinal Orsini died this morning;
All our physicians
Could not subdue his terror that has summoned
The death it feared.
ALEXANDER.
You watched?
POTO.
I watched him; as a babe, he breathed his last.
ALEXANDER.
Good, good Orsini—as a babe! His mother
Bears but the common loss.
I am shaking, Poto.
Quick, to his private house, surprise the treasure;
Go, seal it ours; go, inventory all.
[Exit Poto.
[At the door.]
Command Burcardus lay the Cardinal
Where it is public to the scrutiny
Of the whole world he died a natural death.
POTO'S VOICE.
Burcardus, Holiness, refuses portion
In this affair.
ALEXANDER.
Poltroonery! Then, Poto,
Command his office.
[Returning.]
Heaven has interposed.
[To Cesare, who advances.]
Lord Cardinal Orsini
Is dead now ....
CESARE.
Cantarella does not check.
It is game!
ALEXANDER.
Most sure. But, Cesare,
The joy, the fortune—he has died by nature,
And can be shown lying in simple death ....
[Cesare laughs derisively.
Your coming struck him dead, fair basilisk.
Unshadow you .... The face!
135
No, I am soiled and marred.
I am not well.
ALEXANDER.
Giordano
Flaunts it at Bracciano? Cesare,
Unroost him; we will finish the whole brood.
CESARE.
He clings to France; we must not threaten him
Till we can threaten Louis.
ALEXANDER.
Straight
You shall unroost him.
CESARE.
No! The Lilies
Of France are the white badges of my fortune.
I shall not break with France too suddenly.
ALEXANDER.
This is my will and I must be obeyed.
CESARE.
[His fingers twisting his sword-chain.]
Not mine.
ALEXANDER.
Unless you do this thing and bury
The brood that hates us, I withdraw from you
My treasure and I excommunicate
A disobedient son. It is my will.
[Cesare's fingers twist the chain so violently it snaps, and the sword drops to the ground.
CESARE.
I am your fool . . .
The fool of all these Kings, this Pope. No throne!
There is no throne . . .
[With a low bow.]
Your abject servitor!
136
Hush! But in this my will. Paternity
Sees with hot passion where the foe is hidden.
You yield obedience, son?
CESARE.
Your fool, your fool!
ALEXANDER.
The voice so slack, my heart,
Its cordiality unbraced! Nay, nay,
You are over-wearied. Come into your Stanze.
At your bedside, when you are laid to rest,
And have drunk wine and eaten, I will ponder
Our state-craft, and receive from you the story
Of Sinigaglia.
CESARE.
That is past.
Our talk must all lie onward .... Whew, the pain
Of riding rough for hours!
ALEXANDER.
I hate you black like this—night on your face.
CESARE.
I am marred.
ALEXANDER.
—But as you will. Come, rest.
| Borgia | |