SCENE I

_The Vatican: a Loggia._

DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ARAGON _is seated between her Maids of Honour_, DONNA ANGELA BORGIA _and_ DONNA CATILENA DE VALENCE, _while her Maid_ CLARICE _pours wine on her long hair_.

LUCREZIA.

My head aches.

CLARICE.

Soon her Excellence Will feel relief.

ANGELA.

You look a wave-drenched siren In those long folds of hair cloyed with the honey By which the lees of the white wine cling close. The sun is brilliant!

CATILENA.

And it was kindly done To save us freckles by the grace of hats Worn in the presence. Ah, sweet Pope, Until his Holiness returns to-day Venus is Sovereign of the Church, its princes Her laughing hierophants, the Sacred College Her Loves, her Doves, her Swallows, what you will, All twittering of her till the air is crazy, And every breeze a gossip.

LUCREZIA.

Hush! A pretty jest-- But when it thundered yesterday I sobbed, And headache like a terror hung on me All the night long.... I am a daughter Guarding her father’s house--the Universe: I am no Pope, and, though the Cardinals Laugh gallantly or slyly, though I laugh At all the salt and spice of travesty, Yet this obedience to my father’s will Has turned my prayers to stone. Dear girls, Here at the toilet let me be a woman, Whose handmaid forehead the triregno’s weight Burthens to faintness. Clarice, did you bruise The celandine and greater cleaver’s madder The full time Messer Giambattista Porta Ordains?

CLARICE.

Before you climbed up to the sun, The roots were bruised and mixed with cummin-oil, The boxwood slivers and the saffron, Donna.

LUCREZIA.

Then lay our compound on.... The Envoy from Ferrara cannot enter, Nor my two Cardinal Secretaries, until You draw my hair out through the crownless hat, And spread it like a halo on the brim.

[CLARICE _dyes her golden hair deeper_.

ANGELA.

There is a whisper that the Duke was seen, Masked, at dead midnight....

LUCREZIA.

[_Starting._] He will keep his chamber; He sleeps by day. I were ashamed To play to him the Pope of Christendom; I could not play it--I should flow no laughter. Haste, Clarice, haste, I am longing For Messer Saracini and his news Of when I shall be married. Angela How long, how long I wait! A woman is a prisoner till a husband Unlock her to her aim. When I am giddy With dancing for my father, I recall What Messer Saracini tells me often Of the quiet, ordered court and the proud pomp Of the old Este castle.... Don Alfonso, So full of occupation with his cannon, Artillery as brilliant as my brother’s; But he himself in careless trim, as sons Of an old princely house may dare to be. Clarice, my tresses wide as sun-rays! [_Her hair is spread over a frame._] Bid The Chamberlain bring Messer Saracini. [_Exit_ CLARICE.

ANGELA.

A tent of yellow silk! I peep at you, White, captive lady, Don Alfonso’s bride.

LUCREZIA.

Hush, hush!

_Enter_ MESSER SARACINI _with_ CLARICE.

SARACINI.

Most humble greeting! Duke Ercole informs your Excellence This week the wedding-train forsakes Ferrara.

[_The_ MAIDS OF HONOUR _clap their hands_.

[LUCREZIA _springs up, snatching the hat-brim from her hair, which streams round her in dripping gold, as she childishly dances in a giddy circle_.

[_She pauses breathless and laughing before_ MESSER SARACINI.

LUCREZIA.

Ah, you bring joy! And joy is in my feet as in the lyre-strings The golden music. Messer Saracini, Is the great cortege for my capture started? Oh, caught in dancing as a mermaiden, And carried to Ferrara! Shortly His Holiness will enter Rome, and shortly The bells will clamour joy above our heads Till the air dances, and the sunshine dances! Girls, I will send my jester Dressed in my newest clothes--the gold-scaled petticoat, And crimson sleeves--to dance out to the people My joy, and cry up _Viva la Duchcessa_, _Viva il Papa_! Girls.... [_To_ SARACINI.] Oh, you are grave and full of wisdom’s smiling Behind the gravity! Clarice, my hat! Tent me again for the Ambassador.

[CLARICE _spreads her hair once more over the frame_.

SARACINI.

Your future father, the Duke Ercole, Sends me these pearls, his noble Duchess wore, For Don Alfonso’s bride--ancestral pearls, Not lately sea-washed, held by sovereign fingers While years made generations.

LUCREZIA.

[_Lifting them._] Golden pearls!

SARACINI.

Duke Ercole informs your Excellence His health revives.

LUCREZIA.

By letter Commend me to his Excellence your Duke; Say, she who is his daughter in her heart Rejoices for his welfare.... I can nurse.... [_To her_ MAIDS.] Tell Messer Saracini--night and day, Alone, without repose, I tended His Holiness when injured by the falling Of a wind-toppled tower. To-night Be present at my ball.

SARACINI.

Most flattered thanks.

ANGELA.

And I will dance with you.

SARACINI.

Day dance as well, And bring me to that hour, sweet promiser! [_Exit._

ANGELA.

Ha, ha!--the limed, old bird! Ha, ha!

_Enter two_ CARDINALS _with despatches_.

CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

A post, from Spain. His Catholic Majesty writes threateningly Of the French rape of Naples, Holy Father Assisted through the Duke.

LUCREZIA.

My lord, His Holiness returns this afternoon; Await his wisdom. [_Holding out her hair._] See, is this a Pope?

CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

Apollo!

LUCREZIA.

[_Smiling._] Leave him to his spokes. I will report you diligent, my lords.

CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

Your blessing, Holy Father! [_Laughing, she gives it._ So the beam Of heaven bears down a dove. [_Kissing her finger-tips._

CARDINAL MICHELE.

Your blessing! Christ heal me!

[_He lays his hand on his heart and goes out with_ CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

LUCREZIA.

Clarice, I am almost dozing! This gold sun heaps me with such weight of gold. Leave me and lay out the white satin robe-- No, for a warmth may rest upon my whiteness A little space: I dance to-night in black, With rubies of their violence grasping pearls, With these ancestral drops of my old duchy. Give me the verses on our Borgian Bull That Porcius wrote--that little book. My eyes Will rest on it half-closed and full of ease, As sunny cats that stretch themselves to dream.

[_They go out._

How strange! I feel as I should never grow a woman Save at Ferrara, miles away from Rome. Alfonso does not love me--every day Humiliates my humbler race, is fearful I shall be found in nature sinister And fatal.... But I am not so, and therefore He cannot find that I am anything But just his young Lucrece, he soon will love, As creatures sent for gifts, if they are gentle, Are cherished in reception.... Oh!

_A masked figure glides in behind and she suddenly hears a voice._

VOICE.

Amanda!

LUCREZIA.

[_To herself._] Castelian!... One, one voice....

CESARE.

Amanda?

LUCREZIA.

You, Cesare! You are come?

CESARE.

I cannot see: Is there a smile behind these rays or no? Is it dark weather, masks--or lip to lip?

LUCREZIA.

Your voice ... I lost my breath To welcome you.

CESARE.

Then to black hell my mask!

[_He throws it away and kneels._

O Excellency of Ferrara, have I Come here too late? Do all the Cupids Hold over this white, little face the saffron Of Hymen’s veil already? But I dare A kiss beneath this gold, although Alfonso Lose one sweet, nuptial joy.... Ah, the beretta Must off in blaze of noon, if I would reach Beneath your brim. [_Holding her chin._] Return my happiness!

[_They kiss._

What strands of amber! O magnificence! My blond is grey-ashamed to touch such yellow Of crocus triumph. So it seems my sister Will be a sovereign Duchess.

LUCREZIA.

Cesare, This Este marriage--you would prosper it?

CESARE.

My fortress! Behind your towers Venice can rage and curse.... But there is joy beyond--we shall be neighbour-princes, Romagna in your sight as you look out, And you in reach if I should mount a horse. Rome will be left, but not the Duke, your brother, We cannot be divided.... Holiness!

[_He laughs mockingly._

LUCREZIA.

You must not, Cesare.... Had you been home The Holy Father had not set me up.... It burns me! [_She lifts her hands to her face._

CESARE.

Curse the folly! To make a jest of you--our secret! You To be a Pope, a Governor--my secret Of the veiled hours, of the sealed lips! Our father can be garrulous in action As well as tongue. Forget, forget, love-goddess, All but the whelming sea-deep and your pearls!

[_He lifts the great Este necklace from her knee._

Cloud, cloud, be dumb, my moon--shine under cloud! ... Were letters sent from Spain?

LUCREZIA.

I would not read them.

CESARE.

We will receive them presently and answer.

LUCREZIA.

I marvel To see you up and in the morning sun.

CESARE.

I waked--then heard you sat against the sun, Fixed to one spot in glory.

LUCREZIA.

And the wars?

CESARE.

--Gained me Faënza, Castel-Bolognese, Corneto, Piombino: for the French I entered Capua....

LUCREZIA.

And you were cruel there.

CESARE.

Transcendently. Naples is crushed to earth, Is gone, stamped French in bloodshed. That vendetta I look on, round and perfect--Naples, That once eclipsed my moon and shot its arrow Athwart my omen, Naples Hurled down as throne and kingdom!

LUCREZIA.

Cesare! My hand-- You grasp as if to break.... Your long, white hand!

CESARE.

It hurts? Lucrece, I rule at Pesaro.

LUCREZIA.

Well, dear, you need not look so venomous. You rule--where is it that you do not rule?

[_The cannon of Sant’ Angelo boom and the bells ring._ LUCREZIA _and_ CESARE _lean over the parapet together; he gently pushes back the straw brim round her forehead and kisses her many times; then he quickly descends_.