SCENE IV

_The Stanze_, DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA’S _new apartments in the Vatican_.

_The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI. _has penetrated into them and looks round_.

ALEXANDER.

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!... So I 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 inhabits The air he breathes ... no need of clothing here, Embellishments and laces--all is Cesare, His lusts, his pride, his loneliness....

[_The_ POPE _sits down and sighs twice or thrice heavily, drumming with his fingers on the table: then he catches sight of a design for_ CESARE’S _new scutcheon. He speaks in gasps._

_Aut Cesar_--fie! _Aut nihil!_ He is Cesar; Duke of Romagna first, My bastard!--presently King of all Italy. Am I, indeed, his father? But if I am not, Roman Jupiter Stole to my couch and got him such a son As the whole earth acclaims. More beautiful He 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!

_Enter_ DONNA 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.

FIAMMETTA.

[_As she rises._] Lord Cesare bade me this hour ...

[_The_ CHILD _cries_. FIAMMETTA, _looking for consent to the_ POPE, _lifts the little Prince in her arms_.

ALEXANDER.

It is The hour for worship. With discretion, child, You soon will be the mistress of a king. [FIAMMETTA _winces_.] Madonna! How like, how like! You are good. Why should you blush? You are good and honest ... and a strength of heart Is in you to bear princes. You will suckle One day a playmate for this royal child, Infans Romanus!

FIAMMETTA.

[_Looking round in terror._] The Lord Cesare Bade me attend ...

ALEXANDER.

Scared at the Vatican, Seat of the gods, sweet child, and seat of Him Whose first command is Multiply! These chambers Are given to my son. But all these motley walls We 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 life Is life and death, and never resurrection. My fair Fiammetta, we will have you painted. There is a prayer in your bright eyes--

FIAMMETTA.

Lord Cesare ... And represented as King Solomon.

ALEXANDER.

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

[_The_ POPE _continues rubbing the frescoes with his hands_.

All new-- I will make all things new.

CESARE _enters hurriedly and is already some distance in the room, when he sees the_ POPE, FIAMMETTA _and the_ CHILD. _He stops dead, and remains immovable. Under his eyes_ FIAMMETTA _puts the_ CHILD _down and goes out_. _The_ CHILD _watches the_ POPE _and_ CESARE _round-eyed, then creeps to the curtains and plays with the heavy tassels. The_ POPE _stands, with wrinkled forehead, uneasy_.

CESARE.

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

ALEXANDER.

[_Trembling._] Killed? The boy was up and dressed, and felt his feet For the first time to-day.... Why do you stand there So overwhelming in your aspect, lofty As 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 pomegranate Jerked from the bough....

[CESARE _remains immovable, muttering oaths between his teeth_.

But we must cloak this death. [_Laying his hand on_ CESARE.] I will not listen; it is policy In most things to be ignorant.... You, Cesare, Must have the ordering of the funeral. Poor lad! A restless creature, like a dog That strays about your hearth, and may be here To-morrow or be gone--Satan that wanders The earth alone knows where.... But murdered! I think I will not know; my ears refuse All knowledge from you.... We must cloak this death Among ourselves.

[_The_ POPE _turns away tottering_.

CESARE.

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 secret Why he was killed.

ALEXANDER.

[_Turning sharply back on_ CESARE.] By whom?

CESARE.

By me.

[ALEXANDER _covers his face. A strange sound, half-moan, half-sob, breaks from him. There is long silence; then the_ POPE _looks at_ CESARE _with a pale, aged face_.

ALEXANDER.

The boy Was young and fair; but scarcely crossed your path.

CESARE.

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

ALEXANDER.

My tawny Splendour, wherefore ask?

CESARE.

[_Spreading his palms._] Then wherefore?

ALEXANDER.

Cesare, the avowal!

CESARE.

I killed in self-defence?

ALEXANDER.

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

CESARE.

And if your Holiness Will deign to listen--do not let the tongue Be 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.

ALEXANDER.

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.

CESARE.

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

ALEXANDER.

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

CESARE.

Banish her.

ALEXANDER.

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

CESARE.

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

ALEXANDER.

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!

CESARE.

Let her keep Her dule ’mid dead volcanoes!

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

ALEXANDER.

[_As if watching._] ... Figliuolo, Luck is your Guardian Angel! Have you thought Romagna needs protection against Venice, Romagna that so soon will be your own? The Estes of Ferrara ... could we mate Lucrezia with the princely house! Ah, then, to northward You were impregnable. The heir is named Alfonso.... To a woman there is matter Of comfort in a name. For poor Alfonso-- God rest his soul!--who now is lying dead, Alfonso d’Este shall be sought for her.

CESARE.

[_Abruptly leaving his game with the child and animal._

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

ALEXANDER.

[_In a murmur._] Such a tiger-clutch Upon our treasuries! _Fio di putta, Bastardo!_ ... More, more, more, As I made gold for Mommus!

CESARE.

Can I Found you a power in your estates and cities Without the wages of my soldiers? Sooner I would pawn my Indian rubies And ceremonial pearls than let my army Starve for its hire. Ten thousand ducats--

ALEXANDER.

[_Passing his hand across his brow._] I am coining day and night and in my dreams: I cannot.... I am bare Of treasure, save these vestments that the Church Casts on my poverty. I have no jewels, No raiment, no reserve.... But Cardinal Lopez Is fading every day.

CESARE.

I cannot wait.

ALEXANDER.

Pish! You shall have the wages. But last evening You plained you needed more artillery, And Messer Leonardo would be idle Among the forts unless I furnished you-- Fate will: for Lopez dies. These busy Cardinals Build each a piece of honeycomb in mass Sufficient.... Why, Michele, Giambattista Orsini, and Ferrari Have sweet within their cells for all Romagna. Ah, we shall need More than the harvest of the Jubilee, A tithe, a fresh Crusade.... What else?

CESARE.

[_In a vibrating voice._] The King of France Sanctions my new campaign. I kissed his envoy, Lifting my mask off--father.

ALEXANDER.

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

CESARE.

And seldom Has 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!

ALEXANDER.

[_Shaking his head._] Flagrant blazoning! Christ Jesus! Yet if you are not Cesar--_nihil, nihil_! Come with me to the treasury.

CESARE.

And silence, Silence and secrecy about this death.

ALEXANDER.

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