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7
SCENE II
A Room in the Lord Cesare Borgia's Palace of Borgo Sant' Angelo.Messer Bernardino Betti (Pintoricchio) and Messer Ercole are waiting to deliver a ceremonial sword.
Enter Lord Bonafede, Bishop of Chiusi.
BONAFEDE.
The worshipful Lord Cardinal is coming;
I have announced you. The ambassadors
Had taken leave.
[Examining the sword in the hands of Messer Ercole.
By Hercules—your pardon,
Yet by your name, as if it were divine—
This queen of swords is warlike, not of peace
In its adornment as a legate's sword . . .
A legate, tamquam pacis angelus,
In Holy Father's phrase. O sirs, the shame
That such a soldier—what condottiere
In Italy would match our Cardinal—
Is wasted on the Church.
PINTORICCHIO.
Lord Bonafede!
BONAFEDE.
I speak out of my flesh. I have gone ever cursing
The tonsure where the helmet should have been.
I am a man-at-arms, the jangling glories
Of panoply are dearer than the bell
That dins the raising of God's sacrifice.
Come, Messer Bernardino, you can mingle
Your saints with Pagan bulls and goddesses
Who love their gods by Nile.
Cesar!
Enter the Lord Cardinal Cesare Borgia.
CESARE.
The sword!
So I receive my fate. Cum numine
Cesaris omen.
[He holds the sword erect and kisses the motto.
8
The Legate's Sword! I laugh ... it is at others,
The names they call me, when I have one name
Hot at the core of fixedness, my heart.
O antique Cesar, conqueror and fount
Of empire, thou wert made my saint at birth;
Thou art my spirit and my augury,
Thy laurels guard me and thy eagles' wings.
My eyes are on thee and thou lead'st my dreams
To homage and thy triumph. Dive Cesar,
Here is thy name
Cut as I bade upon thy chariot-wheel,
Since triumphers can use the spokes of Fortune
For carriage of their prevalence.
My thanks
To you, dear Bernardino, I have always
Loved for your gifts, esteemed as one of ours,
Who wove our life round with the signs and legends
Denoting us by power of phantasy;
I thank you for this emblem of my soul,
Prefigured in these lovely images.
My equal thanks
To you, good Messer Ercole, for strength
And nobleness of handiwork, the craft
That has subverted matter, as the god
Turned chaos to a fabric. Ah, and the work,
Your work, is done, signed of your fame and done.
You are most happy. Mine is all an absence
As yet, a future! But the pledge is mine—
This sword, your creature, and my prophecy.
PINTORICCHIO.
Beloved and Cesar, you have been our poet;
From you our valid agency, from you
The teeming of the parable.
ERCOLE.
You notice
The azure guard? It pleases you?
CESARE.
As spring's
Sky-blue. Lord Bonafede, you that savour
9
These grooves: now see the contour and the curves,
The equilibrium, so beautiful
I worship it with reverence. Now bend
Above the glass, like adamant, and trace
My hero in his deeds.
Here is a mighty deed,
And one that was of doom. This floating ensign,
These naked horsemen at the riverside,
The child, with wreath of laurel, by the flood
Playing his flute to outset of a life ....
For this is Cesar crossing Rubicon.
Here are his very words: “The die is cast.” . . .
Enter Monsignore Gaspare Poto.
POTO.
Your Worship,
His Holiness requires you instantly;
For he is gnawed by deep inquietude.
The Duke your brother has been missed two nights,
Has disappeared without a trace ....
CESARE.
What, lost?
POTO.
The Holy Father shakes with agitation;
His emissaries seek the city through,
And he is grievously impatient, asking
The aid of heaven and earth. You saw the Duke
At the Madonna de' Catanei's house.
His Holiness would question you.
CESARE.
I come.
[They wait while Cesare stands absorbed.
POTO.
Pardon! The Holy Father is in wrath
As well as fear.
CESARE.
I come. Oh, my Lord Bonafede,
The sword is in your charge ....
10
The Borgian Bull,
A victim at its feet. The flames are blown;
There will be sacrifice! It was a dream
I told to Messer Bernardino ....
[To Poto.]
Swift,
Come swiftly to the Vatican! Giovanni—
Well, is he dead, or will he yet return?
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