The Project Gutenberg eBook of Borgia: A Period Play
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Borgia: A Period Play
Author: Michael Field
Release date: May 8, 2021 [eBook #65280]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BORGIA: A PERIOD PLAY ***
| PERSONS ACT I, ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, ACT VI. |
B O R G I A
“ ... Autant en emporte ly vens”
PERSONS
| Pope Alexander VI | formerly Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia |
| Cardinal Cesare Borgia | afterwards Duc de Valentinois and Duke of Romagna, the Pope’s son |
| Don Joffré | Duke of Squillace, the Pope’s younger son |
| Louis XII | King of France |
| Don Juan | King of Navarre |
| Cardinal Francesco Borgia | cousin to the Pope |
| Cardinal Ippolito d’Este | son of the Duke of Ferrara |
| Cardinal Giuliano Della Rovere | afterwards Pope Julius II and other Cardinals. |
| Prince Don Alfonso | Duke of Bisceglia, a natural son of the King of Naples, husband to Lucrezia Borgia, after her divorce from Giovanni Sforza |
| Prince Djem | the Sultan’s brother and the Pope’s hostage |
| The Bishop of Venosa | the Pope’s Private Physician |
| Monsignore Bonafede | Bishop of Chiusi |
| Monsignore Burchard | Master of the Ceremonies |
| Monsignore Gaspare Poto | the Pope’s Private Chamberlain |
| Monsignore Gaspare Torella | Cesare Borgia’s Physician |
| Cavaliere Vincenzo Calmeta | a poet |
| Don Pedro de Torpia | Cesare Borgia’s Spanish jailer |
| Don Michelotto Corella | one of Cesare Borgia’s captains |
| Don Federico Altieri | a young Roman gentleman |
| Don Garcilaso de la Vega | Spanish Ambassador |
| Messer Niccolo Macchiavelli | Florentine Envoy |
| Messer Bernardino Betti (Pintoricchio) | a painter |
| Messer Ercole | a goldsmith and metal-worker |
| Messer Cristofero | Lucrezia Borgia’s Secretary |
| Messer Agapito da Amalia | Cesare Borgia’s Secretary |
| Messer Pincione | an apothecary |
| Juanito Grasica | Cesare Borgia’s page |
| Garcia de Magona | a Spanish boy |
| Giorgio | a waterman |
| Donna Lucrezia Borgia | the Pope’s daughter |
| Donna Adriana Borgia | the Pope’s cousin |
| Donna Angela Borgia | Maids of Honour to Lucrezia |
| Donna Hieronyma Borgia | Maids of Honour to Lucrezia |
| Donna Sancia d’Aragon | sister to Don Alfonzo and wife to Don Joffré Borgia |
| Mademoiselle Charlotte d’Albret | afterwards wife to Cesare Borgia |
| Donna Vanozza de’ Catanei | once the Pope’s mistress, and the mother of Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia |
| Donna Giulia Farnese (La Bella) | the Pope’s young mistress |
| Donna Fiammetta | A Roman woman, Cesare Borgia’s mistress |
| Donna Catilena de Valence | Maid of Honour to Lucrezia |
| Suor Lucia | an Anchoress |
| Clarice | Maid to Lucrezia |
| A Mute, Shepherds, Citizens of Rome, Attendants, Bargemen, Girls and Women | |
B O R G I A
A P E R I O D P L A Y
LONDON
A. H. BULLEN
1905
BORGIA
ACT I
SCENE I
An apartment of the Vatican: at the further end the door of the Treasury by which the Lord Cardinal Casanova is seated.
The Lord Alexander VI. and an Envoy from Naples.
The Pope is seated; from time to time he plunges his hands into a coffer of pearls, letting the pearls stream through his fingers.
ALEXANDER.
All are for her! Each an epitome
Of her—the very skin of them her own,
Our Pearl above all others. So your monarch
Will mate his nephew with her?
Of her—the very skin of them her own,
Our Pearl above all others. So your monarch
Will mate his nephew with her?
ENVOY.
He consents, Holiness,
Having o’erlooked the letter
Giovanni, lord of Pesaro, has written
In affirmation of her virgin state—
The fault being his.
Having o’erlooked the letter
Giovanni, lord of Pesaro, has written
In affirmation of her virgin state—
The fault being his.
ALEXANDER.
ENVOY.
A cardinal!
ALEXANDER.
A cardinal, we cannot yet release him
From vows—your ear!—he holds detestable.
My second son, where were his livelihood
Without the Church’s revenue? All prudence
Must hold him to the priesthood for a while.
Betroth him to the daughter of your king—
Your king and I, at leisure, will provide
Some principality for Cesare
To match his sees and yielded cardinalate.
From vows—your ear!—he holds detestable.
My second son, where were his livelihood
Without the Church’s revenue? All prudence
Must hold him to the priesthood for a while.
Betroth him to the daughter of your king—
Your king and I, at leisure, will provide
Some principality for Cesare
To match his sees and yielded cardinalate.
ENVOY.
Make it God’s law your Cardinal may wed,
And then, his scarlet hat within his hand,
My lord the king would take him as a son.
Now, the proposals of your Holiness
Are but—poetic.
And then, his scarlet hat within his hand,
My lord the king would take him as a son.
Now, the proposals of your Holiness
Are but—poetic.
ALEXANDER.
No, no! The royal princess
Carlotta—is her bent our way?
Carlotta—is her bent our way?
ENVOY.
She flat refuses the lord Cardinal.
ALEXANDER.
She has not seen him, blond and beautiful.
A churchman! You may look with candlelight
To find his tonsure. Even my dear Giovanni
Is only half a prince, his brother by,
Although a rare one in his splendid right.
And as for mode and elegance all know
Our youthful Cardinal is just a gallant
Most Frenchified in form.
Well, well, well! I am dreaming:
Poetry, you call my dreams....
This pleasant marriage
Of Don Alfonso and my Donna Lucrece
Will make us jaunty in the Vatican.
My pearls!—
You watch them through my fingers—lucent lumps;
This pear-shaped ovule heavy with its light;
The pearls and pearlets dropping
With patters loud and soft together—listen!
My daughter will have more and lovelier pearls
Than any woman in the greedy world.
Would you have sight of one large coffer filled,
This emulates?
[Rising]. There is the treasury door,
There the Lord Casanova, full of winks
At voices from the cave.
A churchman! You may look with candlelight
To find his tonsure. Even my dear Giovanni
Is only half a prince, his brother by,
Although a rare one in his splendid right.
And as for mode and elegance all know
Our youthful Cardinal is just a gallant
Most Frenchified in form.
Well, well, well! I am dreaming:
Poetry, you call my dreams....
This pleasant marriage
Of Don Alfonso and my Donna Lucrece
Will make us jaunty in the Vatican.
My pearls!—
You watch them through my fingers—lucent lumps;
This pear-shaped ovule heavy with its light;
The pearls and pearlets dropping
With patters loud and soft together—listen!
My daughter will have more and lovelier pearls
Than any woman in the greedy world.
Would you have sight of one large coffer filled,
This emulates?
[Rising]. There is the treasury door,
There the Lord Casanova, full of winks
At voices from the cave.
Enter Monsignore Gaspare Poto.
POTO.
Your Holiness,
I sought his Excellence the Duke Giovanni
In his apartments, but he is not there.
I sought his Excellence the Duke Giovanni
In his apartments, but he is not there.
ALEXANDER.
[To the Envoy.] So strange! My son the Duke of Gandia, fails me
To-day with greeting, and to-day we fix
The hour when I review his armaments
Under our blessèd gonfalon. ’Tis strange.
[To Poto.] Go to Madonna de’ Catanei’s house:
His mother made a supper, I was told,
For him and for his brother. [Exit Poto.
[To the Envoy.] You conduct
Don Cesare when, next month, as our Legate,
He goes to crown your king?
To-day with greeting, and to-day we fix
The hour when I review his armaments
Under our blessèd gonfalon. ’Tis strange.
[To Poto.] Go to Madonna de’ Catanei’s house:
His mother made a supper, I was told,
For him and for his brother. [Exit Poto.
[To the Envoy.] You conduct
Don Cesare when, next month, as our Legate,
He goes to crown your king?
ENVOY.
My hope!
ALEXANDER.
And now the pearls!
Open, Lord Casanova.
Open, Lord Casanova.
[The treasurer unfolds the door and discovers Donna Giulia Farnese and Donna Lucrezia Borgia in Neapolitan dressing-gowns of white silk, their golden hair untressed, choosing jewels for their nets.
Indiscreet?
Laugh, ladies—do not blush. A pair of swans!
Laugh, ladies—do not blush. A pair of swans!
[Taking Giulia’s wrist.] No, no, Madonna—no,
My Giulia—not the ruby! You must match
Your lovely eyelets with the diamond.
My Giulia—not the ruby! You must match
Your lovely eyelets with the diamond.
GIULIA.
Always
The diamond, Holiness.
The diamond, Holiness.
ALEXANDER.
You shine, you shine!
Lucrece, my softer radiance—what, my Pearl? [He kisses her.
Draw out the heavy coffer,
Lord Casanova. Open it! The sight
Grows slippery on these burnished domes!
There, there—ah, there
Is patrimony....
Lucrece, my softer radiance—what, my Pearl? [He kisses her.
Draw out the heavy coffer,
Lord Casanova. Open it! The sight
Grows slippery on these burnished domes!
There, there—ah, there
Is patrimony....
ENVOY.
Wondrous!
ALEXANDER.
Tell your master.
[His arm round his daughter.] Lucrece, the King of Naples sends his nephew
To cheer your maiden widowhood. Next month
You will be bride and wife.
To cheer your maiden widowhood. Next month
You will be bride and wife.
LUCREZIA.
So soon!
ALEXANDER.
Santi! she quarrels
In maidenwise with time! You shall not leave me,
As when you wept at Pesaro. Your Prince
Consents! Alfonso is of lusty frame—
Good face and eyes.... I speak him as he is?
In maidenwise with time! You shall not leave me,
As when you wept at Pesaro. Your Prince
Consents! Alfonso is of lusty frame—
Good face and eyes.... I speak him as he is?
ENVOY.
ALEXANDER.
There, my girl!
So end your troubles! ’Tis a swelling shoot,—
This bridegroom.
So end your troubles! ’Tis a swelling shoot,—
This bridegroom.
LUCREZIA.
May Madonna prosper me!
ALEXANDER.
[Crossing himself.] The glorious Virgin—to that prayer, Amen!
[To the Envoy.] Our daughter bent obedient to our will
Her idle marriage should be set aside,
By mercy flawless and canonical,
With modesty’s reluctance: she will bless
Our older wisdom in Alfonso’s arms.
No clouding, Pearl!
We can but laugh exultantly to open
Our treasury and find, as in a case,
Two perfect jewels of Pandora’s kind.
Her idle marriage should be set aside,
By mercy flawless and canonical,
With modesty’s reluctance: she will bless
Our older wisdom in Alfonso’s arms.
No clouding, Pearl!
We can but laugh exultantly to open
Our treasury and find, as in a case,
Two perfect jewels of Pandora’s kind.
LUCREZIA.
[In a whisper to the Pope.] The orator will disesteem me thus,
In spreading hair and schiavonetto.
In spreading hair and schiavonetto.
ALEXANDER.
Never
Will any man but worship loveliness
Wrapt loosely and dishevelled.
Charm, my fair ones, charm
Is simple in ascendency.
Will any man but worship loveliness
Wrapt loosely and dishevelled.
Charm, my fair ones, charm
Is simple in ascendency.
Re-enter Monsignore Gaspare Poto.
POTO.
ALEXANDER.
O Poto, Poto, search
His haunts! The malice of these chamberlains!
Madonna Giulia, Monsignore Poto
Would search the place where Don Giovanni hides.
Have mercy on my son!
His haunts! The malice of these chamberlains!
Madonna Giulia, Monsignore Poto
Would search the place where Don Giovanni hides.
Have mercy on my son!
GIULIA.
Monsignore finds
Your Holiness so jovial he is conquered
Your Holiness so jovial he is conquered
LUCREZIA.
Excuse him!
ALEXANDER.
Even our ladies, Poto,
Plead for the Duke’s seclusion. Without doubt
He waits for sundown to forsake the place
Where he was sociable.
Plead for the Duke’s seclusion. Without doubt
He waits for sundown to forsake the place
Where he was sociable.
LUCREZIA.
Then is Giovanni
So wary in his fancies?
So wary in his fancies?
ALEXANDER.
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.
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.
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!
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.
The Lord Cardinal’s Sword,
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.
So I receive my fate. Cum numine
Cesaris omen. [He holds the sword erect and kisses the motto.
The Lord Cardinal’s Sword,
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.
From you our valid agency, from you
The teeming of the parable.
ERCOLE.
You notice
The azure guard? It pleases you?
The azure guard? It pleases you?
CESARE.
As spring’s
Sky-blue. Lord Bonafede, you that savour
The taste of steel, run with your finger down
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.” ...
Sky-blue. Lord Bonafede, you that savour
The taste of steel, run with your finger down
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....
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.
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.
As well as fear.
CESARE.
I come. Oh, my Lord Bonafede,
The sword is in your charge....
And see this picture—
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?
The sword is in your charge....
And see this picture—
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?
SCENE III
The Vatican: a room overlooking the Tiber. It is twilight.
Don Joffré Borgia and Donna Sancia d’Aragon, who is weeping, look out from a distant window; near at hand the Lord Cardinals Francesco Borgia and Bartolomeo of Segovia are also looking out.
The Lord Alexander VI. is pacing backward and forward.
ALEXANDER.
[Pausing by the Cardinals.]
Those lights ... those fireflies
Out on the river, do they dance above him
Fast as they swarm and change?
Out on the river, do they dance above him
Fast as they swarm and change?
CARDINAL BORGIA.
You must not watch them.
ALEXANDER.
It takes my mind off from the pictures sweeping
As in a fever, through it. Fast they come....
As in a fever, through it. Fast they come....
[He begins to pace again, his arm in Cardinal Segovia’s.
Cesare’s picture
Of how they parted on the Banchi Vecchi;
The strange masked figure that Giovanni swung
Up to his saddle as he rode away,
Away—
I see him in the midsummer, calm night—
Toward the Jews’ quarter in Sant’ Angelo,
Toward the dark Sistine Convent, and beyond ...
Ha, to the quarter of our deadly foemen,
The Bears, the vile Orsini.
Of how they parted on the Banchi Vecchi;
The strange masked figure that Giovanni swung
Up to his saddle as he rode away,
Away—
I see him in the midsummer, calm night—
Toward the Jews’ quarter in Sant’ Angelo,
Toward the dark Sistine Convent, and beyond ...
Ha, to the quarter of our deadly foemen,
The Bears, the vile Orsini.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
That looks ill.
ALEXANDER.
And he was never seen again. His brother
Says the masked recreant came behind a vine-stock,
And motioned to Giovanni secretly:
He says Giovanni
Was red and vehement as he turned back
To feasting at the table.... Ah, more pictures!
A new one, painted wet upon my brain
Over the rest!
Says the masked recreant came behind a vine-stock,
And motioned to Giovanni secretly:
He says Giovanni
Was red and vehement as he turned back
To feasting at the table.... Ah, more pictures!
A new one, painted wet upon my brain
Over the rest!
[Stopping suddenly in the middle of the room.
Where is he,—my young son,
My beautiful Giovanni? You stand round,
Wise with the Church’s wisdom, but where is he?
He may be living, tortured, gagged.... He is not!
No, there is come a change in me; I know
He is not breathing with me any more,
And yet I cannot bid you pray for him;
I do not count him dead. He is but lost,
And lost so deep I do not think a creature,
Nor even his Creator knows the place
That he has wandered to. The lost must wander,
They have no goal, not even hell, no rest.
They have their freedom as the unbaptized
To rove in horror where none plucks the sleeve
Or questions them or bids good-day.
They wander on till they are flitting ghosts,
Till they are elemental and dissolved,
And when they would entreat us, they must rail
In the howling wind about our chimney-stacks.
So I encounter my Giovanni—so!
So I was tutored of the storm last night.
He is not breathing with us any more!
My beautiful Giovanni? You stand round,
Wise with the Church’s wisdom, but where is he?
He may be living, tortured, gagged.... He is not!
No, there is come a change in me; I know
He is not breathing with me any more,
And yet I cannot bid you pray for him;
I do not count him dead. He is but lost,
And lost so deep I do not think a creature,
Nor even his Creator knows the place
That he has wandered to. The lost must wander,
They have no goal, not even hell, no rest.
They have their freedom as the unbaptized
To rove in horror where none plucks the sleeve
Or questions them or bids good-day.
They wander on till they are flitting ghosts,
Till they are elemental and dissolved,
And when they would entreat us, they must rail
In the howling wind about our chimney-stacks.
So I encounter my Giovanni—so!
So I was tutored of the storm last night.
He is not breathing with us any more!
CARDINAL BORGIA.
ALEXANDER.
His body!
When last I saw the boy
He shook his golden poll with merriment
That I received his Spanish mistress here,
A most devout and humble Catholic,
With eyes dark wells for Cupid’s thirst. He laughed,
Till all the room was sunbeams from his mirth.
When last I saw the boy
He shook his golden poll with merriment
That I received his Spanish mistress here,
A most devout and humble Catholic,
With eyes dark wells for Cupid’s thirst. He laughed,
Till all the room was sunbeams from his mirth.
Donna Adriana Orsini enters, supporting Donna Lucrezia Borgia. They are deeply veiled.
If God
Turn such a thing as that to carrion—then
I shall curse God. [He makes a gesture of imprecation.
[Turning to Lucrezia.] Well, wanton, you look white!
What comfort have you? Would you be a nun
That you crept to San Sisto from your palace
Soon as you heard? Is not this missing boy
Your brother? You would steal from any noise.
The tumult of the people and its rage
Is round Giovanni’s name; but yesterday
The bruit of the town was of Lucrezia.
If any, you should suffer from men’s tongues,
And you refuse to suffer. All reproaches
Drive you more dumb. But now you shall not cloak
This mystery as if it were a relic.
You have been with the boy: you know
Where he loved, where he was hated. All our loves
And hates are in your hands. You have grown more blind
Than any woman ever made herself
That she might see in the dark.
Give up your witness.
Turn such a thing as that to carrion—then
I shall curse God. [He makes a gesture of imprecation.
[Turning to Lucrezia.] Well, wanton, you look white!
What comfort have you? Would you be a nun
That you crept to San Sisto from your palace
Soon as you heard? Is not this missing boy
Your brother? You would steal from any noise.
The tumult of the people and its rage
Is round Giovanni’s name; but yesterday
The bruit of the town was of Lucrezia.
If any, you should suffer from men’s tongues,
And you refuse to suffer. All reproaches
Drive you more dumb. But now you shall not cloak
This mystery as if it were a relic.
You have been with the boy: you know
Where he loved, where he was hated. All our loves
And hates are in your hands. You have grown more blind
Than any woman ever made herself
That she might see in the dark.
Give up your witness.
[Lucrezia remains before him silent, with open mouth.
A little devil, circumspect,
When I would have rank truth.
[To the Cardinals.] Are these my children?
Oh, but I spare them ... we must spare our bastards,
It says in Holy Writ. [He goes towards the further window.
When I would have rank truth.
[To the Cardinals.] Are these my children?
Oh, but I spare them ... we must spare our bastards,
It says in Holy Writ. [He goes towards the further window.
LUCREZIA.
ALEXANDER.
[From the back.] Joffré, you stand
Like a fixed statue draughty in a niche:
I do not pin you there. Go all of you! Go hence!
Sancia, I am ashamed that you should sit
Weeping what is not of your blood. Get up!
Out of my presence! You all stand and gaze
As at a play—perhaps a comedy.
Like a fixed statue draughty in a niche:
I do not pin you there. Go all of you! Go hence!
Sancia, I am ashamed that you should sit
Weeping what is not of your blood. Get up!
Out of my presence! You all stand and gaze
As at a play—perhaps a comedy.
[Joffré and Sancia go out.
[To Lucrezia.] And you—unnatural, go hence!
[Adriana makes a gesture of appeal: Alexander waves his hand wrathfully. As the women go out, an usher meets them, closely followed by Madonna de’ Catanei.
God’s breath,
His mother!
His mother!
[The usher speaks to Lucrezia. Lucrezia puts her arms round her mother’s neck.