Your watchword!
CESARE.
[Rising with flame in his eyes.
It will storm my heart ... I cannot.
JULIUS.
Then you have chosen
A lifetime in the dens your victims haunt.
Mule! And the Guard is waiting ...
Son of Hell!
A lifetime in the dens your victims haunt.
Mule! And the Guard is waiting ...
Son of Hell!
[He makes a sign to summon the Papal Guard.
CESARE.
[With a wide gesture.] Freedom!
JULIUS.
The Papal Guard enters.
CESARE.
My freedom!
AGAPITO.
Excellence, dear lord,
As you have pity on our love, unbury
The word that makes you free.
As you have pity on our love, unbury
The word that makes you free.
CESARE.
Agapito!
You are as I....
[In a whisper.] Write it. [Agapito turns to the desk.
O my Cesena,
A word to soil you!—Overthrown,
Forli, Cesena, and my guardian Rocca,
Proof against every hazard, save your lord’s
Betrayal of your honour! Fallen—O fallen!
The walls—the walls before me!
You are as I....
[In a whisper.] Write it. [Agapito turns to the desk.
O my Cesena,
A word to soil you!—Overthrown,
Forli, Cesena, and my guardian Rocca,
Proof against every hazard, save your lord’s
Betrayal of your honour! Fallen—O fallen!
The walls—the walls before me!
[Julius has moved to the table to receive the writing. Cesare throws himself prone on his conch and does not move.
A Chamberlain enters.
CHAMBERLAIN.
Holiness,
Messer Buonarotti, waits command.
He brings a drawing of ten Victories
Niched in your monument.
Messer Buonarotti, waits command.
He brings a drawing of ten Victories
Niched in your monument.
JULIUS.
AGAPITO.
[As the pen falls from his hand and he gives the writing to Julius.
All that my lord can do
Is done: if still the fortresses maintain
Their loyalty to their effective Duke,
He takes no fault and he demands his freedom.
Is done: if still the fortresses maintain
Their loyalty to their effective Duke,
He takes no fault and he demands his freedom.
JULIUS.
[With a burst of laughter, as he reads the watchword.
The forts must yield:
If they resist our sovereign voice they ruin
Themselves and their usurper. [Pointing to Cesare.
He is lost.
If they resist our sovereign voice they ruin
Themselves and their usurper. [Pointing to Cesare.
He is lost.
AGAPITO.
Then let me further write.
[Turning to the others with the paper Julius has returned.
Be witnesses, you, you....
Now countersign my words! His liberty
Derives but from his castellans—that conquers!
They will ride forth beneath his banneroles,
Crying their Duca, Duca!
Now countersign my words! His liberty
Derives but from his castellans—that conquers!
They will ride forth beneath his banneroles,
Crying their Duca, Duca!
JULIUS.
They shall dislodge, cast down
His scutcheon on the ground and hoist the Keys.
His scutcheon on the ground and hoist the Keys.
[Exit with the Papal Guard.
[Lord Cardinal Vera approaches Cesare’s couch, then shakes his head and joins the others.
VERA.
It is too sore! When he was but my scholar,
As if the son of a great potentate
He breathed to rule, his glance made heritage.
As if the son of a great potentate
He breathed to rule, his glance made heritage.
TORELLA.
BONAFEDE.
Had he but drawn his army
Clear of this Rome and leapt on Pisa, had he
Refused to sell his votes he had been saved.
Clear of this Rome and leapt on Pisa, had he
Refused to sell his votes he had been saved.
CESARE.
[Suddenly lifting his head.]
You were throwing dice.... Continue! Play the game.
You were throwing dice.... Continue! Play the game.
[Silently two Spanish Gentlemen seat themselves near his couch and play. He turns on his elbow and watches them, passing his ball of perfume from hand to hand.
AGAPITO.
[In a murmur to Torella.
For hours, long hours, impassible he fixes
His eyes upon the board, as if the secret
Of Destiny were secret of a Sphinx
He could divine by watching.
His eyes upon the board, as if the secret
Of Destiny were secret of a Sphinx
He could divine by watching.
CESARE.
[Still fixed on the game, but speaking to all.] Without doubt
Our fortune is unchained against us, friends:
But there are chances—let us reckon them!
My captain Scipione is of ours
Till death; he joins me in my liberty.
The bankers guard three hundred thousand ducats
At Genoa and at Florence: from such nurture
Springs a live army. Volpe and Michelotto
Refuse for any bribe to quit my service.
I do not even accuse my fate, still less
The ingratitude of men, for I have found
In all, save one I trusted, loyalty.
Bring me my poignard with the little mirror—
That peasant’s hand ruffled my chemisette....
Our fortune is unchained against us, friends:
But there are chances—let us reckon them!
My captain Scipione is of ours
Till death; he joins me in my liberty.
The bankers guard three hundred thousand ducats
At Genoa and at Florence: from such nurture
Springs a live army. Volpe and Michelotto
Refuse for any bribe to quit my service.
I do not even accuse my fate, still less
The ingratitude of men, for I have found
In all, save one I trusted, loyalty.
Bring me my poignard with the little mirror—
That peasant’s hand ruffled my chemisette....
[The poignard being brought, he looks in its glass at his tear-stained face.
Enter Messer Niccolo Macchiavelli.
Messer Niccolo!
[He gives his hand.
Why are you come? You scarcely fear me now.
Welcome!
Welcome!
MACCHIAVELLI.
Your Excellence, to bid farewell.
To-morrow I depart.
To-morrow I depart.
CESARE.
Why are you come?...
Ah, I am cheap! All use me as the poor
Burn forest—ecco!
No diplomacy!
Why should you bid farewell to me you ruined,
Delaying your safe-conduct to my troops?
You triumph?
Ah, I am cheap! All use me as the poor
Burn forest—ecco!
No diplomacy!
Why should you bid farewell to me you ruined,
Delaying your safe-conduct to my troops?
You triumph?
MACCHIAVELLI.
I am curious, Excellence!
And I must watch you, if I will or not.
And I must watch you, if I will or not.
CESARE.
A prodigy, a monster!
MACCHIAVELLI.
[With vibrating voice.] No, but a Prince
Unequalled.
Unequalled.
CESARE.
[Springing up.] You behold? Have you the eyes—
Keen, cutting crystals that have shot out joy
To see me totter?
Messer Niccolo,
If we are comprehended, we are greater
Than Fate or any chance. I am a prince.
Set down my kingdom that shall ever be
While dreams are portents. Oh, set down
The perfect scheming of the miracle!
Each part of action in my brain was solved,
And flowed on to its end. You recognised,
When, in the greatness of effective truth,
Last year I awed Romagna, and exacted
Sharp vengeance on my injurers, my kingdom
Was as the genesis of stars? With fire
Of primal force I founded it, secure
Against all future shocks, save this assault
Of sickness unto death at the steep moment
When death struck down my father.
... Yet it crumbles
It grows a shadow round me. Macchiavelli,
Restore it, by the word embody it;
Let it not perish! I shall ever wonder
That such perfection fell to nothingness
In its astute, swift likelihood. O Fortune!
The gulf.... [Breaking off with a gesture of menace.
You start for Florence?
Keen, cutting crystals that have shot out joy
To see me totter?
Messer Niccolo,
If we are comprehended, we are greater
Than Fate or any chance. I am a prince.
Set down my kingdom that shall ever be
While dreams are portents. Oh, set down
The perfect scheming of the miracle!
Each part of action in my brain was solved,
And flowed on to its end. You recognised,
When, in the greatness of effective truth,
Last year I awed Romagna, and exacted
Sharp vengeance on my injurers, my kingdom
Was as the genesis of stars? With fire
Of primal force I founded it, secure
Against all future shocks, save this assault
Of sickness unto death at the steep moment
When death struck down my father.
... Yet it crumbles
It grows a shadow round me. Macchiavelli,
Restore it, by the word embody it;
Let it not perish! I shall ever wonder
That such perfection fell to nothingness
In its astute, swift likelihood. O Fortune!
The gulf.... [Breaking off with a gesture of menace.
You start for Florence?
MACCHIAVELLI.
Ay, for Florence,
To-morrow morning, close upon the dawn.
To-morrow morning, close upon the dawn.
CESARE.
Take back to Florence this: if I but capture
Occasion once again, I sign a treaty,
Even if I needs must sign it with the Devil,
Gather my treasure, play my last resources,
Assemble all my friends, and, once at Pisa,
Use every power of my extremity
To render Florence evil, hour for hour
Of her despite....
[With a low laugh.] You think me slipping down
Into my tomb.... Ah, Messer Niccolo,
If I were you, this Cesar who is nothing
Would be contemptible. You ought to crush me,
You ought to make your mirth that I am flat:
It is my law that you fulfil; and justice
Is linked so with my judgment, even my passion
Conceives cold rage alone, or utter scorn
Of those who cannot end me. I look often
With still eyes on my end.
Occasion once again, I sign a treaty,
Even if I needs must sign it with the Devil,
Gather my treasure, play my last resources,
Assemble all my friends, and, once at Pisa,
Use every power of my extremity
To render Florence evil, hour for hour
Of her despite....
[With a low laugh.] You think me slipping down
Into my tomb.... Ah, Messer Niccolo,
If I were you, this Cesar who is nothing
Would be contemptible. You ought to crush me,
You ought to make your mirth that I am flat:
It is my law that you fulfil; and justice
Is linked so with my judgment, even my passion
Conceives cold rage alone, or utter scorn
Of those who cannot end me. I look often
With still eyes on my end.
Farewell, farewell! You listen,
And all your face is speaking to my words.
We love each other, my best enemy.
Farewell.
All I have been is with you. Fortune
Out of her giddy air will arbitrate
Between my past and future.
And all your face is speaking to my words.
We love each other, my best enemy.
Farewell.
All I have been is with you. Fortune
Out of her giddy air will arbitrate
Between my past and future.
[He gives his hand again. Macchiavelli quickly stoops and kisses it.
MACCHIAVELLI.
ACT VI
SCENE I
Three years later.
A small Tower-prison of the Castle of La Mota del Medina in Spain.
Against one wall, hung with a canvas, four or five gyr-falcons sit leashed on a perch.
Don Cesare Borgia leans out of the narrow window, watching the pitch of his gyr-falcon. The Governor Don Pedro de Tapia and a squire, Juanito Grasica, stand behind him.
CESARE.
She rows the air, she towers ... now makes her point,
Now waits—she waits up the free air.
Magnificent!... A kite that she would vanquish....
Quarry—and she upon her tower ... free to drink blood.
Now waits—she waits up the free air.
Magnificent!... A kite that she would vanquish....
Quarry—and she upon her tower ... free to drink blood.
[He looks back and laughs.
Ha! Like a loosened thunderbolt she stoops!...
Could you but see! Amazing!
Who-whoop! She flies too hard ... who-whoop!—and cannot hold:
’Tis death, but so impetuous in the dealing
Her quarry is struck down. [Turning again.
Señor Don Pedro,
My vehement gyr-falcon loses me
Her quarry in your ditch....
Could you but see! Amazing!
Who-whoop! She flies too hard ... who-whoop!—and cannot hold:
’Tis death, but so impetuous in the dealing
Her quarry is struck down. [Turning again.
Señor Don Pedro,
My vehement gyr-falcon loses me
Her quarry in your ditch....
DON PEDRO.
CESARE.
No, leave it—that were tame!
[With a profound sigh he holds out the lure to which at last the falcon comes; then he gives the bird to Juanito, who ties her on the screen-perch.
Is the sun setting?—Vespers from the Church
Of San Lorenzo!
[To Don Pedro.] We are gratified
By this long visit, for the course of things
Is brought by you in current to our eyrie,
Clear up from life upon your voice.
We may not
Detain you longer.
Of San Lorenzo!
[To Don Pedro.] We are gratified
By this long visit, for the course of things
Is brought by you in current to our eyrie,
Clear up from life upon your voice.
We may not
Detain you longer.
DON PEDRO.
But I exult, Don Cesar
De Borjà, in the converse of a man
Who held the crown of Mars in Italy.
There is lifting of the heart and joy of blood
When you recount....
De Borjà, in the converse of a man
Who held the crown of Mars in Italy.
There is lifting of the heart and joy of blood
When you recount....
CESARE.
Don Pedro,
My chaplain will confess me presently;
The soul must reach that vein.
My chaplain will confess me presently;
The soul must reach that vein.
DON PEDRO.
Forgive! No further moment!
Adieu. [Exit.
Adieu. [Exit.
CESARE.
[With a snarling yawn, like a caged animal’s.
Begone!—He wearied me a year.
When will his servant, black Magona, bring us
The coil of rope?
When will his servant, black Magona, bring us
The coil of rope?
JUANITO.
At sunset, Excellence.
CESARE.
Now the king-star
Is falling down below the rocks—and blue
As a sea-deep is the hollow we must tempt;
It is blue: one venturing bird
Makes it gigantic with a little shake,
An arietta.... We must drop down lower
Than the bird’s song—it is not from the ground.
Look, my Juanito!
Aside I hitch my shoulders through this narrow
And windy crevice of the barbican.
I am as agile and as thin as you,
I feel as young—
Case-hardened from that pestilence, a tower
Among my race; strong as La Mota;
A creature that but needs to touch the earth
To be Antaeus and invincible.
You shall descend first—death for you or freedom.
Then welcome death or freedom! Could I, Juan,
Leave you behind—
We who sailed out together, desolate,
And for three years have tasted unenjoyed
Sleep, and the vigil that has been our lives?
We do not on a peradventure part:
You have the lighter bones, the cord will bear you
Down to the grass so featly, it will signal
Its eagerness to me.... Juanito,
How full a man you come from these three years!
Will everything be changed as you?
Is falling down below the rocks—and blue
As a sea-deep is the hollow we must tempt;
It is blue: one venturing bird
Makes it gigantic with a little shake,
An arietta.... We must drop down lower
Than the bird’s song—it is not from the ground.
Look, my Juanito!
Aside I hitch my shoulders through this narrow
And windy crevice of the barbican.
I am as agile and as thin as you,
I feel as young—
Case-hardened from that pestilence, a tower
Among my race; strong as La Mota;
A creature that but needs to touch the earth
To be Antaeus and invincible.
You shall descend first—death for you or freedom.
Then welcome death or freedom! Could I, Juan,
Leave you behind—
We who sailed out together, desolate,
And for three years have tasted unenjoyed
Sleep, and the vigil that has been our lives?
We do not on a peradventure part:
You have the lighter bones, the cord will bear you
Down to the grass so featly, it will signal
Its eagerness to me.... Juanito,
How full a man you come from these three years!
Will everything be changed as you?
JUANITO.
Oh, no!
Those who have loved you cannot love you more;
They cannot grow in that. Her Excellence
Your sister will be happy
Beyond the last hope of her weariness
At the free news.
Those who have loved you cannot love you more;
They cannot grow in that. Her Excellence
Your sister will be happy
Beyond the last hope of her weariness
At the free news.
CESARE.
Lucrezia! I can watch her—
How at Ferrara all her life goes by;
How, from her sun-red towers, across the plain
She is looking out, and cannot see the prison
That stifles me: her eyes as they look out
Turn Amor into stone.
When will the rope be brought?
How soon? This Garcia de Magona will not
Betray me as Gonsalvo at the last?
How at Ferrara all her life goes by;
How, from her sun-red towers, across the plain
She is looking out, and cannot see the prison
That stifles me: her eyes as they look out
Turn Amor into stone.
When will the rope be brought?
How soon? This Garcia de Magona will not
Betray me as Gonsalvo at the last?
JUANITO.
Garcia is safe; he burns to furnish you.
CESARE.
How wider
The steepness stretches, the tranquillity!
What does it promise? It is Fortune’s Pit,
That gapes in Spain, that swallowed me awhile
In Rome and Naples, and then cast me out
Alive upon this pinnacle. And now....
The world will be my chess-board, I survey
Until occasion hail me. There is Louis
Of France would set his horse to tread with mine;
The Emperor hates as Pope the Rovere;
Gonzaga lord of Mantua will espouse
My fellowship, Ferrara is fraternal;
My brother of Navarre; to whom I fly,
Strangely accordant....
The steepness stretches, the tranquillity!
What does it promise? It is Fortune’s Pit,
That gapes in Spain, that swallowed me awhile
In Rome and Naples, and then cast me out
Alive upon this pinnacle. And now....
The world will be my chess-board, I survey
Until occasion hail me. There is Louis
Of France would set his horse to tread with mine;
The Emperor hates as Pope the Rovere;
Gonzaga lord of Mantua will espouse
My fellowship, Ferrara is fraternal;
My brother of Navarre; to whom I fly,
Strangely accordant....
[He gazes out in concentrated reverie. A key is turned softly at the door; Garcia de Magona enters, bringing ropes.
JUANITO.
[In a whisper to himself.] But my lord is rapt!
How still the Spanish boy,
His black hair shining and his ears with edges
Of the clear ruddiness of pomegranates,
The light of sunset is so shed on him.
How still the Spanish boy,
His black hair shining and his ears with edges
Of the clear ruddiness of pomegranates,
The light of sunset is so shed on him.
[He waits till Garcia has locked the door on the inside, then steals towards him.
GARCIA.
Be swift!
Hush, lay them in the chest beneath your clothes.
They are good—they will be faithful to the Duke....
Christ grant his other means be safe as these!
Will he not turn?
Though of a different race,
This lord, who is so reverend and so dreadful,
Is homely and most courteous to the poor.
I would not have you trouble him.
Hush, lay them in the chest beneath your clothes.
They are good—they will be faithful to the Duke....
Christ grant his other means be safe as these!
Will he not turn?
Though of a different race,
This lord, who is so reverend and so dreadful,
Is homely and most courteous to the poor.
I would not have you trouble him.
JUANITO.
Garcia, I dare not
Utter your coming since he misses it.
With widely-open nostrils and great eyes,
He hangs above the gulf.
Utter your coming since he misses it.
With widely-open nostrils and great eyes,
He hangs above the gulf.
GARCIA.
Tell him, Juanito,
One night when he is out of Spain in safety,
I went to San Lorenzo, for his sake,
To pray the Saints would bear him in their hands.
Cover the rope!
A trumpet will be blown
Down in the fosse, when Don Rodrigo’s men
Are ready with the horses. All my life
Is in to-night if he is saved. Farewell! [Exit.
One night when he is out of Spain in safety,
I went to San Lorenzo, for his sake,
To pray the Saints would bear him in their hands.
Cover the rope!
A trumpet will be blown
Down in the fosse, when Don Rodrigo’s men
Are ready with the horses. All my life
Is in to-night if he is saved. Farewell! [Exit.
[Juanito hides the rope and sits on the chest in the last red of the sunset, singing to himself.
“Gentil Signore,
Cesare Borgia, figlio del Pastore.”
Cesare Borgia, figlio del Pastore.”
CESARE.
[As if waking.] Why, that is what they sing at my Cesena,
’Mid the snow-marbled Apennine. My shepherds
Hailed me the Shepherd’s son—their simpleness
Could so attune the distant Vatican
With their cool valleys ... and I cannot laugh.
’Mid the snow-marbled Apennine. My shepherds
Hailed me the Shepherd’s son—their simpleness
Could so attune the distant Vatican
With their cool valleys ... and I cannot laugh.
JUANITO.
I have the rope: soon you will hear a call
Hummed up upon a trumpet.
Hummed up upon a trumpet.
CESARE.
O royal Italy!
O my Romagna ... but I cannot breathe!
The sun is fallen, the air of the abyss
Blows like blue fields of waving flax. Look down!
The little stream Zapadiel disappears,
And the wild brushwood and the flock of goats;
Even the East has faded....
Did you tell me
They play up from the fosse a trumpet-note
When the horses wait? Once more to touch a bridle,
Once more astride to feel the rocking flanks!
Ha, ha! And then my sudden apparition,
As if I were the devil. Hark, a sound!
Listen! [He trembles all over.
A snake-note darting up ... a bugle!
O my Romagna ... but I cannot breathe!
The sun is fallen, the air of the abyss
Blows like blue fields of waving flax. Look down!
The little stream Zapadiel disappears,
And the wild brushwood and the flock of goats;
Even the East has faded....
Did you tell me
They play up from the fosse a trumpet-note
When the horses wait? Once more to touch a bridle,
Once more astride to feel the rocking flanks!
Ha, ha! And then my sudden apparition,
As if I were the devil. Hark, a sound!
Listen! [He trembles all over.
A snake-note darting up ... a bugle!
JUANITO.
No, no, no!
The bleating of a goat.
The bleating of a goat.
CESARE.
How closely darkening
The shadows favour us ... and there are rumours
The wind takes from the ground of horses’ hoofs....
The shadows favour us ... and there are rumours
The wind takes from the ground of horses’ hoofs....
[A trumpet is lightly blown.
Fortune, my war-cry once again!
[Juanito rushes for the rope.] Aut Cesar,
Aut nihil! But to-day I take the plunge,
I dare the pit, the downfall.
[To Juanito.] Knot it here more firmly,
Round this crenelle—steady! It must not jag....
Now my light ball, I throw you to the breezes,
Ding-dangle—thus!
[He lets Juanito down.] Your odds, Juanito,
Against the wheel of Fortune!
... He keeps hold—
O boy! the rope is taut. It holds....
This cumbers me. [Throwing off his cloak.
Our Lord God, in His infinite clemency,
And for His greater glory against Fate’s
Vicissitudes....
A jerk!—the final die is cast!
Cesar—or nothing!
[Juanito rushes for the rope.] Aut Cesar,
Aut nihil! But to-day I take the plunge,
I dare the pit, the downfall.
[To Juanito.] Knot it here more firmly,
Round this crenelle—steady! It must not jag....
Now my light ball, I throw you to the breezes,
Ding-dangle—thus!
[He lets Juanito down.] Your odds, Juanito,
Against the wheel of Fortune!
... He keeps hold—
O boy! the rope is taut. It holds....
This cumbers me. [Throwing off his cloak.
Our Lord God, in His infinite clemency,
And for His greater glory against Fate’s
Vicissitudes....
A jerk!—the final die is cast!
Cesar—or nothing!
[He climbs down the rope into the ravine, as voices are heard on the stairs. The door opens and Don Pedro rushes in with soldiers.
DON PEDRO.
[He cuts the rope, motioning some of the soldiers to descend.
[After awhile.
Guards, are you there?
A VOICE.
[Just heard from below.
They dragged him to their horses—all are fled.
SCENE II
The Camp of the King of Navarre at Viana. A March tempest is blowing.
Enter Messer Agapito meeting Juanito Grasica in front of a tent that beats in the wind. Their torches are almost extinguished.
AGAPITO.
Juanito, have they drawn in the posts?
JUANITO.
All are retired to shelter, Secretary.
These Navarrais received my lord’s command
With manifest bewilderment.
These Navarrais received my lord’s command
With manifest bewilderment.
AGAPITO.
Our Captain
Has ever saved his troops fatigue and tempest:
These men are rude in habit, and the lashing
Of mountain-storms familiar. O my lad,
We are not now in Italy.
Has ever saved his troops fatigue and tempest:
These men are rude in habit, and the lashing
Of mountain-storms familiar. O my lad,
We are not now in Italy.
JUANITO.
AGAPITO.
His every hope miscarries—everywhere
Hostility, abandon or suspicion:
The Pope has drawn his treasure from the banks,
Dried up the fountain of his polity,
The means of gathering troops, the hope of calling
His ancient captains to his side.
Hostility, abandon or suspicion:
The Pope has drawn his treasure from the banks,
Dried up the fountain of his polity,
The means of gathering troops, the hope of calling
His ancient captains to his side.
JUANITO.
O Señor,
That letter from the King of France, withdrawing
All revenues and honour from our lord,
Joining his Dukedom and his French domains
To Dauphiné and Berry, as they were
Before the royal gift—did you consider ...
Yes, but I see you did ... his look that day?
It was a face of hell; and ever since
His eyes throw flame out.
That letter from the King of France, withdrawing
All revenues and honour from our lord,
Joining his Dukedom and his French domains
To Dauphiné and Berry, as they were
Before the royal gift—did you consider ...
Yes, but I see you did ... his look that day?
It was a face of hell; and ever since
His eyes throw flame out.
AGAPITO.
Think! He has engrossed
The world’s resources from his earliest years,
Marshal, as San Michele, of God’s hosts,
And born Vicegerent.... Think! He now has nothing
But his invincible, rejected sword.
A pauper, and a hireling to his brother—
This Navarrais, this kinglet—yet with sweep,
A great glance on a little verge, he conquers
These rebels of Viana and their chief
Louis de Beaumont, that the petty realm
Being consolidate and set between
His foes of France and Spain, he may have option
To hold o’er each the sword of Damocles.
The brain that wrought at Sinigaglia once
Works still among barbarians. But his lips,
Like famished wolf-fangs, and his thwarted youth,
His darkened joy in freedom!—I have wept ...
Go in, go in!
The world’s resources from his earliest years,
Marshal, as San Michele, of God’s hosts,
And born Vicegerent.... Think! He now has nothing
But his invincible, rejected sword.
A pauper, and a hireling to his brother—
This Navarrais, this kinglet—yet with sweep,
A great glance on a little verge, he conquers
These rebels of Viana and their chief
Louis de Beaumont, that the petty realm
Being consolidate and set between
His foes of France and Spain, he may have option
To hold o’er each the sword of Damocles.
The brain that wrought at Sinigaglia once
Works still among barbarians. But his lips,
Like famished wolf-fangs, and his thwarted youth,
His darkened joy in freedom!—I have wept ...
Go in, go in!
JUANITO.
[King Don Juan of Navarre and Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna advance towards the tent with torch-bearers.
DON JUAN.
Our confidence
Is strict in your direction—not a word
From us to the great Captain, to the Son
Of War: our trust is blind.
You show distress
At this rude blowing, and your velvet cloak
Might well have been afloat upon a river.
Good night; good sleep, my brother César. Scarcely
In Italy the air rolls thus.
Is strict in your direction—not a word
From us to the great Captain, to the Son
Of War: our trust is blind.
You show distress
At this rude blowing, and your velvet cloak
Might well have been afloat upon a river.
Good night; good sleep, my brother César. Scarcely
In Italy the air rolls thus.
CESARE.
Good-night,
Don Juan. Such a fan exasperates,
Entering all senses.
Don Juan. Such a fan exasperates,
Entering all senses.
[They shake hands. Don Juan goes out. Cesare motions his torch-bearer to withdraw.
Come, Juanito;
Unarm me. To your tent, Agapito;
You will have rheum to-morrow. [Exit Agapito.
God!—the stroke
Of wing this tempest has: there is no shield.
Lift up the tent-skirt, Juan.
Unarm me. To your tent, Agapito;
You will have rheum to-morrow. [Exit Agapito.
God!—the stroke
Of wing this tempest has: there is no shield.
Lift up the tent-skirt, Juan.
[They go in, and the sound is heard of armour flung on the floor. Then Cesare’s voice is heard.
[Within.] Take a cloak,
A dry one from the press, and bear this message
Back to Don Juan; I forgot.
Look round!
See that my stallion
Is dry, and, fresh-caparisoned, waits ready
In the next tent.
A dry one from the press, and bear this message
Back to Don Juan; I forgot.
Look round!
See that my stallion
Is dry, and, fresh-caparisoned, waits ready
In the next tent.
[Juanito comes from the tent and passes into the night.
The tramp, the cavalcade
Of these cursed whirlwinds, of the secret legions—
The hauntings of an army I shall never
Command—
[His voice rises.] shall never summon. I am void;
I cannot buy the forces that I love;
I cannot as a Suzerain compel ...
I have no place, no rank, no furniture.
This march, this freight of cannon—all were mine;
I struck them on the air, cried Halt or On ...
My patrimony! Deep where dreams outspread,
A phantom army, Cesar’s army, rambles
Ungeneralled.
O fury of the night!
This France that has rejected me, this Spain
That bound me hand and foot, this Papacy
That locks me from Romagna with its keys,
From all my captains and my army calling
Across the Alps—I have one lust, one cry
For blood within me....
Ha, to plunge my sword
In vengeance to the heart of France, the throat
Of Spain, the entrails of the Vatican!
To murder countries—not the flesh and blood
Of just a man here, there, but states and kingdoms—
Draw out their life! Has not all checking life
Flowed forth in darkness to my sovereignty?
If I have lost the land that I could rule,
And if my army is a host of winds,
I still can thirst for blood.... I have my sword,
And, sword in hand, the last breath that I breathe
Will be a breath of appetite and hate.
I have my sword—
Of these cursed whirlwinds, of the secret legions—
The hauntings of an army I shall never
Command—
[His voice rises.] shall never summon. I am void;
I cannot buy the forces that I love;
I cannot as a Suzerain compel ...
I have no place, no rank, no furniture.
This march, this freight of cannon—all were mine;
I struck them on the air, cried Halt or On ...
My patrimony! Deep where dreams outspread,
A phantom army, Cesar’s army, rambles
Ungeneralled.
O fury of the night!
This France that has rejected me, this Spain
That bound me hand and foot, this Papacy
That locks me from Romagna with its keys,
From all my captains and my army calling
Across the Alps—I have one lust, one cry
For blood within me....
Ha, to plunge my sword
In vengeance to the heart of France, the throat
Of Spain, the entrails of the Vatican!
To murder countries—not the flesh and blood
Of just a man here, there, but states and kingdoms—
Draw out their life! Has not all checking life
Flowed forth in darkness to my sovereignty?
If I have lost the land that I could rule,
And if my army is a host of winds,
I still can thirst for blood.... I have my sword,
And, sword in hand, the last breath that I breathe
Will be a breath of appetite and hate.
I have my sword—