[He sweeps back the tent-skirts, and stands face to the storm, the torch behind him.
O shifting elements,
Chaos is on me—I am not of Chaos!
I could ride forth
A single horseman riding forth to conquer
The day, the night; I could confine these winds
Had I the watchword.... Beaten back, destroyed!
—Close in!
Chaos is on me—I am not of Chaos!
I could ride forth
A single horseman riding forth to conquer
The day, the night; I could confine these winds
Had I the watchword.... Beaten back, destroyed!
—Close in!
[He wraps the folds of the tent together. There is no sound in the tent.
A SENTRY’S VOICE.
A SUDDEN GREAT CRY.
Beaumont, a Beaumont!
ALARUM FROM ANOTHER POST.
The enemy! Ho, ho! The enemy!
Awake, wake!
Awake, wake!
ANOTHER CRY CLOSE AT HAND.
Beaumont!
CESARE’S VOICE.
[Within.] Duca! Blood of God!
What is their war-cry? Beaumont?
What is their war-cry? Beaumont?
[He throws open the doors of the tent, struggling into his armour. Juanito rushes up.
Ambushed by Fate! Juanito, the torch
Is falling: light another. Do you see,
I cannot find the buckles.... I must ride....
Fetch out my horse.... The corselet—that will serve.
Is falling: light another. Do you see,
I cannot find the buckles.... I must ride....
Fetch out my horse.... The corselet—that will serve.
[Juanito goes for the horse.
CRIES RENEWED.
Beaumont, a Beaumont!
CESARE.
[Snatching up his sword.] Curse the renegades!
What is my war-cry? [He comes out of the tent bareheaded.
It confuses me....
The tramp, the tramp! Ah, if I led an army!
Ah, I could lead—on, on!
What is my war-cry? [He comes out of the tent bareheaded.
It confuses me....
The tramp, the tramp! Ah, if I led an army!
Ah, I could lead—on, on!
[The horse is brought.
JUANITO.
With one look at his master, as he mounts.
Unarmed!
CESARE.
[Laughing.] Unarmed!... The sweep, the rush, the hungry onset
Sweep me along, cry round ... the engines crash!
Banners of Hell, my banners on the wind!
Sweep me along, cry round ... the engines crash!
Banners of Hell, my banners on the wind!
JUANITO.
[Running out of the tent.] Stay—your celada!
CESARE.
Fling it! Duca! On!
[He dashes out of the courtyard. His escort has gathered and waits stupidly the word of command.
JUANITO.
He gave us no command. His horse has stumbled.
Curses across the wind—
Curses across the wind—
CESARE’S VOICE.
[Suddenly distinct, though far away.] On, Duca, on!
JUANITO.
He flies down the Solana in the wind.
Mount, mount! God’s Love! But we must follow him.
Mount, mount! God’s Love! But we must follow him.
SCENE III
The Abbess’ room at the Convent of Corpus Domini at Ferrara. At the back there is a little shrine and a crucifix.
The Lord Cardinal Ippolito d’Este converses with Messer Cristofero.
CRISTOFERO.
IPPOLITO.
I dared not tell her till her husband wrote:
His letter trembles in my hand....
His letter trembles in my hand....
CRISTOFERO.
For days
She has been pacing, fasting, full of terrors
Worse far than any term! The air has quickened
To prophet’s divination—noise and silence
Was in it of great woe.
She comes.... God’s mercy!
She has been pacing, fasting, full of terrors
Worse far than any term! The air has quickened
To prophet’s divination—noise and silence
Was in it of great woe.
She comes.... God’s mercy!
Enter Duchess Lucrezia Borgia d’Este, in the dress of a penitent, her hair unbound.
LUCREZIA.
He is dead, Ippolito!
IPPOLITO.
Read—from your husband.
LUCREZIA.
Tell me ... the parchment rocks.... You see
My hands, my eyes are helpless; but my soul
Is firmer. Tell me....
My hands, my eyes are helpless; but my soul
Is firmer. Tell me....
CRISTOFERO.
He is dead, Madonna!
LUCREZIA.
God told me—and I only hear it now!
Cesare!—and so far, so far....
Oh, tell me,
Save me in nothing: I shall lose all refuge
Of credence if you do not make me sure
As death that he is dead.
Cesare!—and so far, so far....
Oh, tell me,
Save me in nothing: I shall lose all refuge
Of credence if you do not make me sure
As death that he is dead.
IPPOLITO.
LUCREZIA.
Some voice to tell me!
IPPOLITO.
[To Cristofero.] Call Juanito. [Exit Cristofero.
Sister, if you would learn, the King Don Juan
Has sent the faithful squire whose feet have followed
Your soldier to his grave.
Sister, if you would learn, the King Don Juan
Has sent the faithful squire whose feet have followed
Your soldier to his grave.
LUCREZIA.
Whose feet have followed,
Among the foreigners....
Among the foreigners....
IPPOLITO.
O Light of Arms!
His wife, his sister will lament for him,
As round the dead Achilles wept Cassandra,
And wept Polyxena,
That in the world none lived redoubtable
As he who everywhere brought peace or war.
He drew his doom as lightnings ever strike
The mountain-heights Acroceraunian,
While lesser mountains stretch along, unflamed.
We leave him to God’s judgment, in the glory
And terror of those strokes.
His wife, his sister will lament for him,
As round the dead Achilles wept Cassandra,
And wept Polyxena,
That in the world none lived redoubtable
As he who everywhere brought peace or war.
He drew his doom as lightnings ever strike
The mountain-heights Acroceraunian,
While lesser mountains stretch along, unflamed.
We leave him to God’s judgment, in the glory
And terror of those strokes.
Re-enter Cristofero with Juanito Grasica.
LUCREZIA.
By your own eyes,
By your own lips, vow you will tell me truth.
By your own lips, vow you will tell me truth.
[Juanito lays his forehead on her hand.
Where?
JUANITO.
At Viana in Navarre.
LUCREZIA.
JUANITO.
He challenged
The outposts of the Count of Lérin....
The outposts of the Count of Lérin....
LUCREZIA.
That
Is nothing now—foregone! Speak but of him;
The moment, my extremity.
Is nothing now—foregone! Speak but of him;
The moment, my extremity.
JUANITO.
We lost him;
His horse affrighted galloped on the blast;
He disappeared beneath us where the lea
Broke to ravine: we heard the hoofs beneath us,
And cries of fierce pursuit ... but all was darkness.
His horse affrighted galloped on the blast;
He disappeared beneath us where the lea
Broke to ravine: we heard the hoofs beneath us,
And cries of fierce pursuit ... but all was darkness.
[He weeps bitterly.
LUCREZIA.
Yes, weep, weep—it is well!
Now speak of him.
Now speak of him.
JUANITO.
Dawn found me tangled by the night, and crying
In the alien, stone wilderness, a captive.
They brought his arms,
His sparkling arms; they questioned of the Prince
Who wore them.
In the alien, stone wilderness, a captive.
They brought his arms,
His sparkling arms; they questioned of the Prince
Who wore them.
LUCREZIA.
But the moment....
JUANITO.
Of a sudden
The foe retreated, leaving me: I reached
The rough-hewn gorge....
The foe retreated, leaving me: I reached
The rough-hewn gorge....
[Near to her and in a changed voice.
He lay there, naked
He lay....
He lay....
[Lucrezia folds her arms over her breast as with a close embrace.
LUCREZIA.
They buried him?
JUANITO.
Beside the lectern of St. Mary’s church
Within Viana, and the pomp was great,
For he had thought to bind a crown on once:
They gave him kingly honours.
Within Viana, and the pomp was great,
For he had thought to bind a crown on once:
They gave him kingly honours.
LUCREZIA.
Oh, pray for him,
That he may rest in peace! There must be peace.
Great, agitated Spirit! Oh, let prayers,
Reverend Ippolito, let prayers be said
In every church, at every altar-stone,
By all the quiet lips that wait on God.
Leave me.... The prayers, the prayers, dear Cardinal,
That he may rest in everlasting peace!
Cristofero and the poor Squire—all go.
All pray for us.
That he may rest in peace! There must be peace.
Great, agitated Spirit! Oh, let prayers,
Reverend Ippolito, let prayers be said
In every church, at every altar-stone,
By all the quiet lips that wait on God.
Leave me.... The prayers, the prayers, dear Cardinal,
That he may rest in everlasting peace!
Cristofero and the poor Squire—all go.
All pray for us.
[They leave her and she kneels before the crucifix of the little shrine.
Cesare, O my eagle!...
The stony tract!...
I am but for thy use
To pray thee into peace, to win a crown
Even now for thee, where the vast Majesty
Gives each his destined aim made bright by prayers.
Maria, aid! It is his heritage.
Spare him and aid me! Every day, at night,
On through the years while I must see the sun
Who have lost my sun fallen in that dire west—
On to the silence of the hour of death,
Let me not cease my voice! It is my love
Sole to him, as I am. O Cesare,
My body evermore, till sepulture,
Shall bind the hair-shirt to its flesh as barbs,
Never forgetful how thou wert cast forth
Stripped to the sky, with nothing in the world
To plead to God with but thy valiant blood,
Thy regal front below Him.
I could almost
Swoon into prayer, but for the intercession
Of the great, peaceful companies on earth,
And bowing through the heavens and round God’s Throne.
The stony tract!...
I am but for thy use
To pray thee into peace, to win a crown
Even now for thee, where the vast Majesty
Gives each his destined aim made bright by prayers.
Maria, aid! It is his heritage.
Spare him and aid me! Every day, at night,
On through the years while I must see the sun
Who have lost my sun fallen in that dire west—
On to the silence of the hour of death,
Let me not cease my voice! It is my love
Sole to him, as I am. O Cesare,
My body evermore, till sepulture,
Shall bind the hair-shirt to its flesh as barbs,
Never forgetful how thou wert cast forth
Stripped to the sky, with nothing in the world
To plead to God with but thy valiant blood,
Thy regal front below Him.
I could almost
Swoon into prayer, but for the intercession
Of the great, peaceful companies on earth,
And bowing through the heavens and round God’s Throne.
[She sinks into a still ecstasy. Silently Suor Lucia enters and kneels beside her.
SCENE IV
The Château of La Motte-Feuilly in France.
A balcony hung with black—below it are forest-trees, some in full leaf, others creeping into green. Solemn masses of wild hyacinths clump up against the castle walls.
The Duchess Charlotte de Valentinois in deep black stands in the balcony, a purple purse laid beside her.
CHARLOTTE.
My sables
Hang heavy on the spring; and I myself
Have known a bliss struck cold, a pleasure
So terrible ... he, who attracts such joy
And overcomes such hate,
Is puissant as an infinite lost god....
The leaves
Are very soft and green and masterful....
The peasant-folk approach, the humble poor
They say he gave his voice in softness to
Who brought old kings to murmur round his urn,
Rebellious that it held him.
Hang heavy on the spring; and I myself
Have known a bliss struck cold, a pleasure
So terrible ... he, who attracts such joy
And overcomes such hate,
Is puissant as an infinite lost god....
The leaves
Are very soft and green and masterful....
The peasant-folk approach, the humble poor
They say he gave his voice in softness to
Who brought old kings to murmur round his urn,
Rebellious that it held him.
[Some Peasants come through the trees.
O good people,
Pray for Lord César—for his soul!
Pray for Lord César—for his soul!
[She gives alms from the purple purse and they pass out.
I cannot pray: my Aves
And all the beads of all my rosary,
Would be for access to him, for his favour.
They will pray,
And bring him peace far from me. But to me
It is the many leaves bring peace, the forest,
The wrapping and the murmur of the wind;
For when I wake at night, wake in my forest,
I am glad to wake: I hear the accusation
Of the great Kings they carved about his tomb,
Who pass around it, weeping—Saul and David
And Solomon, the Scripture Kings, all lost
And wandering as ghosts and desolate,
With cry to the four royal winds, to Heaven,
And to the swerving roll of the great forest,
That César has no crown....
And all the beads of all my rosary,
Would be for access to him, for his favour.
They will pray,
And bring him peace far from me. But to me
It is the many leaves bring peace, the forest,
The wrapping and the murmur of the wind;
For when I wake at night, wake in my forest,
I am glad to wake: I hear the accusation
Of the great Kings they carved about his tomb,
Who pass around it, weeping—Saul and David
And Solomon, the Scripture Kings, all lost
And wandering as ghosts and desolate,
With cry to the four royal winds, to Heaven,
And to the swerving roll of the great forest,
That César has no crown....
[A Nurse passes under the balcony leading a young child.
... No crown, no race—I have not borne a son.
There is not any
Among the Kings gold-browed as this. Oh, peace!
But lift it in your hands—’tis Gideon’s fleece
This forthright weft of silky blond. And many
Dumb animals lurk at the eyelids’ crease,
Under the eyes—a serpent that from fenny
Marish finds sluice; a lion when in den he
Deviseth rage; an ox beneath the trees:
Yea, and an eagle droopeth for its prey,
A malign eagle, in the slack, dull gaze.
But on the lips what panting savagery,
The fang of the wolf on winter forest-ways!
Yet is the face soft, lonely, over all
A honied mystery that must appal.
Among the Kings gold-browed as this. Oh, peace!
But lift it in your hands—’tis Gideon’s fleece
This forthright weft of silky blond. And many
Dumb animals lurk at the eyelids’ crease,
Under the eyes—a serpent that from fenny
Marish finds sluice; a lion when in den he
Deviseth rage; an ox beneath the trees:
Yea, and an eagle droopeth for its prey,
A malign eagle, in the slack, dull gaze.
But on the lips what panting savagery,
The fang of the wolf on winter forest-ways!
Yet is the face soft, lonely, over all
A honied mystery that must appal.
Elogia virorum illustrium, 1551.
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Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
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