SCENE IV

So God in silenceContracts 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! [ExitMichelotto.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’svoice is heard from the Borgia Tower.

Sweetest Mother,Thy suit is won:Flowers for thee,Flowers for thy Son,Flowers at thy kneeFor the Trinity!She is soothing him with little, airy notes,Like the rustle of the leaves.

[Re-enterMichelotto.Cesareopens his hands for the dagger and cord.

O Michelotto,These jewelsHave never shone so bright—steel, steel, and neckletsTwisted and coiled so deftly round the throatThe breath heaves up—then plumb back to its void.Conceal yourself.... I drag the women out....

My lord, I cannot warrantSome little noise may lucklessly escape.

Myself I will be present if you palter,Will watch his features crying for the air.Swift, swift—— [He goes into the Borgia Tower.

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 Cesarere-enters, his right arm roundDonna Lucrezia Borgia d’Aragon,while his left hand gripsDonna Sancia Borgia,Princess of Squillace. The door is fastened behind them byMichelotto.

Loose, loose! It bites my wrist.Why do you bring us here?

You said that we must come.

Let loose; loose, Cesare!

[ToLucrezia.] Sit there....[ToSancia.] You writhing viper.I fling you off!

[He pushes her away. She is at the door, trying the handle.

What is it?

What?—White eyes, who shot the arrow?

Alfonso—

In your sight!

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

Do you plead for him?

You are safe....

You sang to him. Is that your triumph?

That you were safe....The little song.... I sang it to myself.I sang.... [A cry is heard.

Fool Michelotto!

[Breaking from the door, and crying toLucrezia.

Can you not hear? Do you not understand?Are you of flesh or stone? They are killing him,As they killed Giovanni....[ToCesare.] 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.

Alfonso! [She sits motionless.

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 eyesBeat 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.

[ToLucrezia.] Star, you fade!

[Lucrezia,who has been looking up intoCesare’sface, falls into a swoon.

Donna Angela BorgiaandDonna Catilena de Valencerush in, pressing the bolt aside: there is blood on the skirt of one of them. Awed byCesare’saspect, they remain without speaking.Sanciasprings through the open door with a cry.

[CesareswaysLucreziatoward theMaids of Honour.

There, take her, Angela—she clings....

[Coming to herself and looking round.] Alfonso?

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

[He goes toward the door.

[Moving fromAngelaand followingCesare,with a cry.

Alfonso!

Has she lost her wits?

[Arrested.] How wondrousShe is! And she is wailing for a ghost!

[With the same cry.] Alfonso!

[He turns away as she almost touches him and quickly leaves her.

[With a gesture afterCesare.] Gone!...Look at her, look! She rises like a nymphIn a cloud of water—look!

She is parted from us....

[Suddenly falling from her height full length on the ground.

Jesu miserere!

The Stanze,Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna’snew apartments in the Vatican.TheLord Alexander VI.has penetrated into them and looks round.

The Stanze,Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna’snew apartments in the Vatican.

TheLord Alexander VI.has penetrated into them and looks round.

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!... SoI 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 inhabitsThe air he breathes ... no need of clothing here,Embellishments and laces—all is Cesare,His lusts, his pride, his loneliness....

[ThePopesits down and sighs twice or thrice heavily, drumming with his fingers on the table: then he catches sight of a design forCesare’snew scutcheon. He speaks in gasps.

Aut Cesar—fie!Aut nihil!He is Cesar;Duke of Romagna first,My bastard!—presentlyKing of all Italy. Am I, indeed, his father?But if I am not, Roman JupiterStole to my couch and got him such a sonAs the whole earth acclaims. More beautifulHe 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!

EnterDonna 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.

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

[TheChildcries.Fiammetta,looking for consent to thePope,lifts the little Prince in her arms.

It isThe hour for worship. With discretion, child,You soon will be the mistress of a king.[Fiammettawinces.] Madonna!How like, how like! You are good. Why should you blush?You are good and honest ... and a strength of heartIs in you to bear princes. You will suckleOne day a playmate for this royal child,Infans Romanus!

[Looking round in terror.] The Lord CesareBade me attend ...

Scared at the Vatican,Seat of the gods, sweet child, and seat of HimWhose first command is Multiply! These chambersAre given to my son. But all these motley wallsWe 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 lifeIs life and death, and never resurrection.My fair Fiammetta, we will have you painted.There is a prayer in your bright eyes—

Lord Cesare ...And represented as King Solomon.

[Patting her on the back.] Assuredly ... while David rests with God.

[ThePopecontinues rubbing the frescoes with his hands.

All new—I will make all things new.

Cesareenters hurriedly and is already some distance in the room, when he sees thePope,Fiammettaand theChild.He stops dead, and remains immovable. Under his eyesFiammettaputs theChilddown and goes out.TheChildwatches thePopeandCesareround-eyed, then creeps to the curtains and plays with the heavy tassels. ThePopestands, with wrinkled forehead, uneasy.

[With a wide smile.] You know that Prince Alfonso has been killed?

[Trembling.] Killed?The boy was up and dressed, and felt his feetFor the first time to-day.... Why do you stand thereSo overwhelming in your aspect, loftyAs 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 pomegranateJerked from the bough....

[Cesareremains immovable, muttering oaths between his teeth.

But we must cloak this death.[Laying his hand onCesare.] I will not listen; it is policyIn most things to be ignorant.... You, Cesare,Must have the ordering of the funeral.Poor lad! A restless creature, like a dogThat strays about your hearth, and may be hereTo-morrow or be gone—Satan that wandersThe earth alone knows where.... But murdered!I think I will not know; my ears refuseAll knowledge from you.... We must cloak this deathAmong ourselves.

[ThePopeturns away tottering.

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 secretWhy he was killed.

[Turning sharply back onCesare.] By whom?

By me.

[Alexandercovers his face. A strange sound, half-moan, half-sob, breaks from him. There is long silence; then thePopelooks atCesarewith a pale, aged face.

The boyWas young and fair; but scarcely crossed your path.

His stealthy arrow did; he let it whizzAcross the garden as I trod the grass.Such little splits of wood may in a momentEnd years of ripening fame. A month agoThe hurried marble thundered down on you,To-day an arrow swept my hair. Say, Holiness,Would you prefer to have that lad of NaplesTeasing your moments with his fears and murmursOr me shot dead, our dead dreams under me?

My tawny Splendour, wherefore ask?

[Spreading his palms.] Then wherefore?

Cesare, the avowal!

I killed in self-defence?

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

And if your HolinessWill deign to listen—do not let the tongueBe 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.

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.

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

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

Banish her.

I could not bear to see a lifelessnessOf sorrow in the dear one.

Banish her.Unless you banish her,The Vatican nor any street in RomeWill see me.

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!

Let her keepHer dule ’mid dead volcanoes!

[He catches up the child, tosses it, and tumbles it on a couch against a large piombo cat.

[As if watching.] ... Figliuolo,Luck is your Guardian Angel! Have you thoughtRomagna needs protection against Venice,Romagna that so soon will be your own?The Estes of Ferrara ... could we mateLucrezia with the princely house! Ah, then, to northwardYou were impregnable. The heir is namedAlfonso.... To a woman there is matterOf comfort in a name. For poor Alfonso—God rest his soul!—who now is lying dead,Alfonso d’Este shall be sought for her.

[Abruptly leaving his game with the child and animal.

Has Lord Gianstefano Ferreri yetPaid down the sum due for his Cardinalate?I want the money.

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

Can IFound you a power in your estates and citiesWithout the wages of my soldiers? SoonerI would pawn my Indian rubiesAnd ceremonial pearls than let my armyStarve for its hire. Ten thousand ducats—

[Passing his hand across his brow.] I am coining day and night and in my dreams:I cannot.... I am bareOf treasure, save these vestments that the ChurchCasts on my poverty. I have no jewels,No raiment, no reserve....But Cardinal LopezIs fading every day.

I cannot wait.

Pish! You shall have the wages. But last eveningYou plained you needed more artillery,And Messer Leonardo would be idleAmong the forts unless I furnished you—Fate will: for Lopez dies.These busy CardinalsBuild each a piece of honeycomb in massSufficient.... Why, Michele, GiambattistaOrsini, and FerrariHave sweet within their cells for all Romagna.Ah, we shall needMore than the harvest of the Jubilee,A tithe, a fresh Crusade.... What else?

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

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

And seldomHas 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!

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

And silence,Silence and secrecy about this death.

[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 GonfalonierSuppling my nature like a mistress, fah!Come with me.... Take the gold!

Suor Luciain a cave beneath the heights of Nepi. She is dressed as a penitent: before her is a crucifix.

I would that I had kept it in my heart,Even as that other secret. Christ’s dear woundsPrinted on me! And now the multitudeWould 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’Aragonenters and bows low before her. She rises and makes salutation.

Most noble princess,I pray you, by your sorrows, let me be.I have no signs to show you.

Let me layMy hands against your hands.

[Astonished.] Then you believe?

And you will pray for me?

The stigmata—Would you receive them?

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

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

Oh, I would feel the wounds!

[As kneeling,Lucreziarests her head againstSuor Lucia,a profound peace settles on her, and she falls asleep.

But this is perfect faith, a miracle.My hands are coarse and hard and only stripedWhere I have touched the oxen’s leather thongs.She does not ask for any history,Or trouble me to hope.

[Lucreziaopens her eyes and smiles.

You smile: you have had dreams?

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

[She embracesSuor Lucia,and, still smiling, passes out.

A room in the Castle of Nepi.In front is a fireplace, flanked by two chests bearing the monograms ofDon AlfonsoandDonna Lucrezia.To the right is a narrow window beaten with rain. To the left, in a dark corner of the apartment,Donna Lucrezia’sSecretaryMesser Cristoferostands by his desk before a pile of papers and documents.Don Federico Altieri,a young Roman gentleman of thePrincess’sescort, leans against the desk.

A room in the Castle of Nepi.

In front is a fireplace, flanked by two chests bearing the monograms ofDon AlfonsoandDonna Lucrezia.To the right is a narrow window beaten with rain. To the left, in a dark corner of the apartment,Donna Lucrezia’sSecretaryMesser Cristoferostands by his desk before a pile of papers and documents.Don Federico Altieri,a young Roman gentleman of thePrincess’sescort, leans against the desk.

But speak of her,But give me leave to speak—perplexityIs on us of her escort: we were bidAccompany her as she were led to prison;And in this Nepi that is hers we knowShe 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 faceClimbs 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.

It must not. Hers will never end. Her passionsLie in a bed of patience.

In a seaThat overwhelms them!

No, in a bed of patience;And there she fosters them. She will not die.

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