ACT II

[Hiding his face in his cope.] Ah me! of darkest angels!

CitizensAs once in Rome; and the Eternal CitySafe from her foes.

You came on me so sudden,You overwhelm me....But you shall go to Naples,And not Ascanio.

Father!

[DrawingCesareto him.] I have wronged you.Come to my heart.

I will redress the wrong.

[ThePopekissesCesarecoldly on his forehead, andblesses him.Cesarepasses out.

How swift he moves away—as ifWith something he had snatched!Is it my soul?

Rome: the Piazza Navona.In the centre an antique statue stands, half-excavated, dressed up and painted to represent Proteus as an old man, one of his arms being turned into a dragon, one into a bull. This is the statue called Pasquino, and it flutters with epigrams and satires. To the left the door and steps of the Church of San Giacomo. To the right some houses: behind Pasquino, the Orsini Palace.It is early—the market-people are beginning to arrive.TheLord Cardinal Cesare Borgia,in the caftan and turban of a Turk, comes out of one of the houses with the TurkishPrince Djem.He stands and looks round from the centre of the Piazza, near Pasquino, and close to the adjacent stone-seat belonging to the old Stadium of Domitian.

Rome: the Piazza Navona.

In the centre an antique statue stands, half-excavated, dressed up and painted to represent Proteus as an old man, one of his arms being turned into a dragon, one into a bull. This is the statue called Pasquino, and it flutters with epigrams and satires. To the left the door and steps of the Church of San Giacomo. To the right some houses: behind Pasquino, the Orsini Palace.

It is early—the market-people are beginning to arrive.

TheLord Cardinal Cesare Borgia,in the caftan and turban of a Turk, comes out of one of the houses with the TurkishPrince Djem.He stands and looks round from the centre of the Piazza, near Pasquino, and close to the adjacent stone-seat belonging to the old Stadium of Domitian.

Djem, Djem! let us stay here awhile. We must rest, for our night has been a busy one. How pale the morning looks, the girls unsunned, and the church chilly!

You do not look pale. You look very handsome, dressed as a Turk.

I shall never look so handsome in this dress again; it will never be so indecent. It is as if a wench were clad as generalissimo—a Cardinal in these fair war-colours. The very broideries have a courage in them. How bold they are! How they glitter!

You should fight with us in our army.

[Putting his arm roundDjem’sneck.] You shall fight with me in my army. We have borne such witness against ourselves, and in places where the Cardinals might recount our misdoings, that to-morrow in Consistory, when I make appeal, they will release me from my vow.

Then you will be no longer Christian?

Look there, look at those yellow-garbed Marani. To save life and limb they pay me monies—money for a journey to France. Oh, look at them! They groan, and I am the cause. [With a gay laugh.] I am a Christian. [He sits on the stone bench.] By the Holy Keys, I could bury myself in these trousers! They almost bury you, and your five daily meals with the sugared water as preamble! What an elephant you are, Djem, in your thirty thousand yards of linen! If I could walk like you! It is the measured step of the elephant and the beat of a Venetian chorus.... Then you have killed four people—Ecco!

Ha, ha, ha!

Your eyes are half-closed, but I can see a bluish, glistening sword.... Four victims!

[His hand touches his hilt.

Will you take me into your church? They are staring at you, these little girls. You go far.

[To a girl.] My little love, your name?

Virgilia.

You find me beautiful? While the Piazza is still empty....

[He whirls her swiftly round Pasquino.

This may not be in the Piazza.

[Sitting down again.] You shall see what may be in the Church. Virgilia, you should kiss the Captain.

Not that one.

[Resting his elbows on his knees and extending his hands to her.] But who is the Captain?

You, you are the beautiful Captain.

And he has kissed you, remember!

I will bring you melons.

[ToVirgilia’scompanion.] What have you for your soldier?

I will give you gems from this chain, little lady, if you will so honour me. Ha, a kiss!

Bought, bought! You are shedding your great clusters.

Enter theLord Cardinal Ippolito d’EsteandPrincess Sancia of Squillace.Cesarelightly greets thePrincess,but bows profoundly to theCardinal.

Matutinal, fair lady?

As you.

As I. Matutinal, fresh from the couch, and conducted by divinity to your prayers!

We do not come from Mass.

Lord Cardinal, I must deliver you from the burthen of your sins. [DrawingSanciato his side.] A Paynim to a Paynim.

I was conducting the fair Princess home from a masquerade.

Let her join the masqueraders.

[ExitCardinal Ippolito,dismissed by a gesture fromSancia.

Djem, is not the devil in her eyes? Your captives gleam so when they are taken.

You conduct me to Mass—is that your pleasure?

It is my pleasure to conduct you.

An infidel, a bastard Paynim! The true breed does not flaunt it so licentiously. Sultan Djem, are you curious in our worship?

I am curious, Madonna, to watch you.

I am veiled.

Ah, you are not carnal enough to be veiled. Some of our treasure is in caskets, some exposed. To some men it is the knowledge of what is hidden that animates; to others—

See, I unveil.

It is useless, Madonna; you are a spot....

A spot, a temptress, a devil! How we gather our escort, proceeding!

[He advances up the church steps withSancia,followed byDjem.

Who is it, Virgilia?

It is one who rode a white horse.—You would say a sumpter-mule, for the beast had packs.—Who is it?—It is an Infidel.—Let us stone him!—It is one with claws—it is the Devil.—He walks with Princess Sancia.—The Duke Giovanni did that.

Do you hear? There is another brother. I am between two, and attended.

Does the crowd still keep the legend?Off, gentles, you do not know me.

What are you?[He turns and fronts them.] The Lord Cardinal!—The Pope’s son!

You are the brother of a ghost.

[Two Spanish Gentlemen ofCesare’strain pass and doff to him.

—Ugh, the Spaniards!—Hidalgo!—Moor!—Infidel!—Where is your cut-throat?

You are the Lord Cesar.

[Cesaregoes up to theBoyand flings a chain round his neck.

More allegiance!Cesar, Cesar! [He scatters largesse.

Lord of the feast, lord of all revels, lord of Rome! Now read Pasquino’s libels—then follow to church.

[Exit into San Giacomo withSanciaandDjem.

But he has the face of a king.—I picked a stone and threw—it grew like a millstone when he smiled at me.—He has a face full of pardon.—You shamed him with the ghost.—La, la, la! He is shameless as a child. You may be ribald before him; he cannot for very innocence reprove.—He bade us read Pasquino.—Come!—Messer Millini, you are a notary.—Read!—Catch these doves round Pasquino, and let us hear them coo.—What part does he play?

’Tis Proteus.

And what is Proteus?

An old prophet who changes shape a hundred times and as swiftly as our Pope. Now for the ways of the world, now for the ways of God, and back to old ways once more!

Why are Pasquino’s arms made creatures? See, a bull....

The arms of the Borgia. Our Pasquin loves to bait that beast.

And the snake?

Hush! Am I Pasquino? The old prophet shall speak.

[He reads.

Whelm the Bull-calves, O vengeful Tiber, deignTo take them to thy raging breast;And let the monster-bearing Bull be slain,victim to Infernal Jove addressed.

Oh, oh, oh!

Rome were favoured, indeed, if Tiber had his glut.

To think the Pope could promise such good things, and not be able to hold for the space of half a year.

Alexander Sixtus! A quivering reed after the breeze, valiant in power of recovery.Vivat diu bos, vivat Alexander!

His sorrow was too great.

There is festa about him. All Lent—that is not our Pope. And there isfesta about the Bull-calves ...Vituli... the same race!

Melons, ripe melons!

[TheNotaryturns and reads to the people behind Pasquino. Laughter and murmurs. The market begins.CesareandSanciacome out together from the church.Djemlingers in the porch, which gradually fills with people from inside the church.

But you will lose her, Sultan Cesare, you will lose her. I am irresistible; and Lucrezia’s husband is my brother.

You knew your destiny. You saved me the tedium of a siege.

[ToDjem,pointing to the sellers of melons, peaches, grapes, and almonds, who clamour round.

Djem, they are too forward. Can you not beat them off?

A nut, a nut! But, my gentle ones, a nut! A pistacchio for these teeth. I bite the nut; then I bite you.

[He draws them, laughing, after him among the booths.

You are bold—a Turk at mass! But I adore the purple. Young Cardinal d’Este grows in my favour. He has eyes.... [In a sudden fawning voice.] But his eyes are not silver, they are brown, brown as Giovanni’s.

Then to be extinguished.

You will not hurt my little Cardinal—you will not? Ah, Paynim, had you been chosen for me instead of Joffré!

You have chosen me instead of Joffré.

My little Joffré is no more to me than the pet foal of the stables. If His Holiness would grant divorce....

What may not His Holiness grant at my suggestion! Commend me by letter to your cousin Carlotta. I shall meet her in France; persuade her to desire me, and your Ippolito shall be safe. I would marry Naples, the rightful line.

For this you have flaunted me through the stone-staring church! You Borgia! Always the trap in your mighty simpleness. A gull!—I hate you. [Djemsidles up.

Sweets, comfits of coriander. They are welcome? Madonna, you pick! [Sanciaturns fromCesare.

[Donna Lucrezia Borgia d’Aragon,withDonna Vanozza de’ Catanei,comes up the church-steps from the back. They are in mourning. The Spanish Gentlemen ofCesare’strain approach. InstinctivelyLucrezialets her veil fall aside. Groups stand round her, admiringly.

Behold!

[Advancing and patting the jewelled clasp on his shoulder.

O Cesare, this lovely guise!You make me feelA Princess and an Eastern Princess. JewelsAnd dusk of jewels.... Oh, the snowy turban—But I have never seen your eyes so blue.You will despise me in this mourning garb,Great Sultan.

[She half-closes her veil and looks round on the group.

Mother, but your son is bowing,Is bowing low—salute him. By his sideThe Princess Sancia.

I salute the Princess.

[Advancing toLucrezia.] And I—

[They bow. AsLucreziaturns from her mother the Spaniards engage her in talk.Cesarestands a little aloof, his eyes on his mother.

[Returning to him.] Don Cesar, but you comprehendThis pearl is for the merchant-men and notFor any private owner in the world:She must not walk with mothers.

[Absently.] Then convert her!You can convert a woman in a triceTo any worship, if you worship her.

[Returning toLucrezia.] You are the moon,The crescent moon. I have seen that in the church.

You have seen the moon beneath our Lady’s feet.

You are the Lady. [Lucrezialaughs irrepressibly.

Come, Lucrece, away!

But have you, little mother, eyes too piousTo own your son?

I cannot understand.You are drest as a Turk.

[CatchingDjem’sarm.] This is my brother.

Hush, hush! An infidel!And your own brother....

Ah, so lately murdered!Madonna de’ Catanei, I condole.

Peace, Sancia![ToVanozza.] This noble Turkish CaptainIs brother to the Sultan: CesareInstructs him in our Church’s mysteries.

I am instructed; it is excellent.A good Church!

Mother, this is ill-behaved;You are not quite yourself.Give me your blessing....Here is the sacred spot.

[He bends and points to his tonsure in the midst of his turban.

—Then pass awayTo the dark shrines and weep!Mother!

[Shaking her head.] I have no blessing. I refuse.

Then pass away to the dark shrines and weep!

[Vanozzagoes slowly up the steps to the church.

Hither, Lucrezia, hither! Through the marketFor the last time while I am Cardinal!Hither, sweet boon-fellow!

[Pulling at the fringe of his turban.] But call her back.

How fares His Holiness? You cannot danceWhile there are ghostly footsteps on the stair;But you can entertain him, make him laugh,Till the sunny tearsBreak out from all the creases of his eyes,With the report of Djem before the shrines,Cesare so profoundly hereticHe may no more be Cardinal.

[Showing her small teeth as she smiles.] Come on!I will report with great fidelity.I will reportDjem is a Christian and must be baptized.But you! Now as I am your boon-fellow,And for the laughter of His Holiness,Let us make sport together.... Comfits, Djem!

[They plunge down into the market-place; the people gather and follow them like a train.

Vitula!She is for Tiber!—Her new husband is there in the Vatican.—Her last husband has told us ... it is not to be spoken.—That Turk might be her bridegroom.—We know he is her brother.—Where is Don Alfonso?—Berenice!—Pasiphaë!—And she laughs like the sky of the first year!—Her throat—its pearls are but shadows.—She is beautiful as the good Madonna.

The Vatican; Sala dei Pontifici.

A secret Consistory. TheLord Alexander VI.surrounded by hisCardinalsin their purple.Don Garcilaso de la Vega,Spanish Ambassador, and other Ambassadors.TheLord Cardinal Cesare Borgiais in the midst of an appeal to theCardinals.ThePopeis watching him, breathless.

A secret Consistory. TheLord Alexander VI.surrounded by hisCardinalsin their purple.Don Garcilaso de la Vega,Spanish Ambassador, and other Ambassadors.

TheLord Cardinal Cesare Borgiais in the midst of an appeal to theCardinals.ThePopeis watching him, breathless.

... From my most early yearsI have been secular. Not the least vocationIs found in me, not in my secret thoughts,Not in my will, not anywhere within me.Therefore I sit apostate in your midst,And therefore do you wrong; therefore I taint you,Beside you, and no more your peer. Most humblyI pray you to release me from my vow.

[There is a guttural murmur.

As you have urgedBoth eloquently and without offenceEre this dispute grew hot, His BlessednessConstrained you in this matter: trust his wisdom.So Heaven puts shackles on us in our youth,That in our years we may walk free, Heaven’s choiceBecome our privilege.

I have receivedRich benefices; I resign them all.

For league with France, for favours from a foe,For contract with your country’s enemies.Most hotly I protest.[To theCardinals.] This renegade,If you will yield him to such infamy,Will still go on from false to false, forswearingHis worldly obligations, as through youHe would forswear his pledges to his God.The old alliances that prop this Chair—Naples and Spain—are mute, and all the parleyWith France. Take heed, take heed, my good lord Cardinals,How you raise up a Princedom.

[Turning his back onGarcilaso.] But more humblyI make petition. How the world esteems me,How slander rates me, when I am once unfrockedI will answer to the world. You were my peers,You are my judges, and from you I askSimply for mercy. Of too great indulgence.I was admitted to your fair assemblage.Open the door!

He blazes as a god.Look, he is trembling! This humilityIs nothing. He who says he cannot playThe hypocrite is hypocrite in full,And plotting for his patron.

That is very truth:There, my Lord Cardinals, the word is just.I am plotting for my patron, for my sole,My unique benefactor.

[Raising and kissing the hem of thePope’srobe.

In this habitI cannot serve His Holiness, whose creatureI am, and all my faculties acute,Conjoined to serve him. I was born a soldier,Beckoned to war, and pointed to redemption—By steel, not holy water—of those landsBedevilled, once the Church’s heritage.’Tis as a CaptainI speak and of my nature. Give me freedom,A little time ... the rest His HolinessShall publish to you of my wars and fortune.

Stay!The Scriptures tell us there are many godsAnd lords as many....

True! Lord LuciferIs one of them, and he is kept in bondsBy God’s divine discretion.

Gently!

Why set him up aloft—why, why? Such eaglesHave dropped down tortoises on shining pates.Look to your safety!

Yet we need not shearOur Samson of his martial strength: Delilah,And not the Lord, put tonsure on that head.

[ThePopelaughs in his robe.

But all this jestingIs little to the point, and the point is grave.Release him—but we cannot. He is bound,As we, by vows that irk and must be borne.

[Softly.] We do not speak it by the Holy Ghost,But to your private ear and as a Spaniard;Such benefices as are vacant now,And such as shall be vacant by your leave,We shall dispose....Ambassador, your monarchWill own us friendly as we fill those Sees.But, look, we tax too much this youthful patience!Give your decision, as the Heavenly DoveWhispers you, fluttering on from head to head.

[There is murmured discussion for awhile.

[Very softly.] Thirty-five thousand florins are renounced,Are in our hands for gift.O mercy, mercy, mercy![Pointing toCesare.] Do you not knowSuch guilt is clung about him he must perishIf still he live in blasphemy. I plead,I am pleading for his soul. Think, there are frocks in Hell;Think of the scandalHis licence breeds if we deny him marriage:While he is in the Church no reformationCan spread against his check.It is as if you all—each one of you—Sealed with your sapphires his eternal ruin.I forced him to this habit, and behold him!He has never crooked the knee. Look there, my Lords,Look there—Achilles peering from disguise....[Chuckling.] Pardon, my Lords, as from his maiden dress.Mine is the fault, the error. Shall he sulkUseless among his tents?

[Kneeling.] Before youI plead for liberty—and, being released,Whom should I serve save him who honours me,Fixing on me his love, on me who have no merit,Nor any place nor office in the worldExcept to love him back?

[There is low discussion for a space.Don Garcilaso’svoice is heard—“Bought; I protest, I will protest till death.”Cardinal Segoviaadvances.

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