 | Borgia |  |
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From thence at last a liquid is withdrawn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 | |