SCENE III

_The Vatican: Sala dei Pontifici._

_The_ LORD ALEXANDER _and_ DONNA LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ESTE. _She is in a crimson travelling-dress, with hat and feather._

ALEXANDER.

And now we part!

LUCREZIA.

Dear Holiness, my Father....

ALEXANDER.

Ah, Child--Lucrezia! The pale eyes are rounding To pearls, great precious pearls, that feed their orbs Upon a sea of tears.... But you are young, Scarce twenty-two, and, yonder in the north, One half of you Is now already at your sovereign home. Listen, my little girl: be circumspect Among the Este, blameless to their watching: But with a gentle steadfastness of pride Meet and overthrow their arrogance ... God keep you From cold disdain or cruelty!

LUCREZIA.

Father, my courage Is sure for I have won my husband’s father: His brothers too, though nobly formal still, As fashion rules their manners, have kind faces, An air that makes me brave. You must not pine, dear father, Nor look for me too often, nor remember I am so far away.

ALEXANDER.

Nay, no caught breath! Sobs will not help my Duchess home. Ah, sweeting, They do not do up at Ferrara there As we in Rome: they live less joyously. But you, a woman, will be sensitive To all I stumble at the hinting of. The peg you sing to must be set less high, Less near Olympus. My bold horsewoman, You must not tarry as with me to watch The stallions worship Venus: those rich flames Are out of mode for Don Alfonso’s wife.... Your feet will often weary for the dance-- You shake your head.... Well, then, a fruitful couch, A sturdy race of princes be engendered To comfort you! Lucrezia, O Lucrece, The Vatican without you--the procession Of gaudy midnights and no feather-footed, Sweet daughter making grace, embroidering The torchlight with her silver attitudes, And floating flash of diamonds, till the dawn Came to me from her swaying pearls, and eyes Half-open in the languid Spanish dance! Day after day my coffers will boil up With pearl on pearl for you.... To-morrow morning I shall drop in the largest of the East. And, Duchess of Ferrara, anything We can perform for you is done the moment It is but a desire within your hope.

LUCREZIA.

Dear Holiness, you whelm me with your love! Take care for me, my father, of your health. Cesare will be dutiful and anxious To make your evenings merry--but so soon Cesare will be from you at his wars.

ALEXANDER.

And I be left a gray, old priest alone! Well, I must bear my age and loneliness As of the time of life. If you would comfort me, Daughter, in desolation--for already The Vatican is chilling, growing hollow Behind your cavalcade--then write to me At every sleeping-place or tarrying-place Along your way: and do not anger me With negligence. Be diligent and careful, As of your duty, to inform my thoughts With each event that touches you. To-night You rest at Castelnovo. Rest and eat! Then out with pen and let the little hand, Tired with the reins, yet for my foolish sake Write me good-night, thy health, the courtesy Shown to thee on thy way.

LUCREZIA.

Even beside my prayers I set this duty.

ALEXANDER.

Sweet, and most sweetly promised! Oh, my Lucrezia, you will never know, For Nature will not in her rule betray Her elder secrets to young ears, how fondly I love you in your fairness, That was your mother’s lure about my soul.... Lucrece, your mother is both loyal and good: Alfonso d’Este may acclaim your virtue, If you are hers in worth as loveliness.

_Enter_ DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA _with little_ DON RODRIGO D’ARAGON.

Cesare and your little son!

LUCREZIA.

[_Clasping her child._] Rodrigo, I leave you with your grandsire.... Ah, my feather! You laugh to see it dancing. I will send you Long feathers from the city where I dwell.... O father, let me kiss you, let me see Your hand upon his head. I cannot stay! I am no more a bride--rather a corse To leave all this behind.

ALEXANDER.

There, there, there! Do not cry! The child is sobbing, and my eyes ... White Fairy, Enchantress, you are loved and you are wept By generations: by your sire, his son, And by your son.

LUCREZIA.

Cesare does not weep.

ALEXANDER.

His eyes burn threateningly, his face is cold; That is a warrior’s weeping. Cesare, We shall be dull as monks when she is gone. To-night ... I am the Pontiff, you almost A Cardinal again. To think one woman, A little bride, with streaming hair, can set me Alone upon St. Peter’s rock to weep! Now guard thy health, pray ever to Madonna, The glorious Virgin. _Benedicite!_ Into my arms once more! O Cesare, What I have lost to found you as a Prince, To wed her safe to sovereignty! My Este, My own Lucrezia-- And the letter, child; Do not forget.

CESARE.

Come, come!

ALEXANDER.

Do not be ill; Do not forget.

[_They part_: CESARE _leads her to the door_.

CESARE.

[_Suddenly still and turning._] One kiss, but not farewell-- One kiss here in the Vatican!

ALEXANDER.

[_Shaking his pastoral staff at_ CESARE.] O Traitor, My temporal power would over-reach me thus? The last kiss from the Vatican will float Out from the window yonder where I watch The last long arrow-streak of your array Toward Castelnovo. It will be a kiss, And fly like autumn cranes to Africa.

[_Exeunt_ CESARE _and_ LUCREZIA.

Gone, gone! Here gather all the Cardinals.

_The Sacred College enters._

Quick, to the window.... [_Lifting_ RODRIGO.] Up, my little man, And see your mother leave us. Ha, how trim She sits, beside her Cesare, how grand! I shall take journey In April to Ferrara.... What if never, If never I should see her any more!... My lord Antoniotto, That is a sight Vergilian gods would praise!