SCENE II

_The Garden of the Vatican, toward sunset._

_The_ LORD ALEXANDER VI., _the_ LORD CARDINAL BARTOLOMEO OF SEGOVIA, _the_ LORD BISHOP OF VENOSA _and_ MONSIGNORE GASPARE POTO.

BISHOP OF VENOSA.

The sun eats as a canker.

CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

Rome Is festering with this fever like a pest. I move and speak with strange uneasiness, As if the motions of my life had fear.

ALEXANDER.

_Sol in Leone!_ There is nothing pleasant When the year fills that tract ... rage, rage, and sandy, Consuming light! I live a damp, old horse, O’er-ridden by the ardour of the air: No neatness round my throat, the cope flung off, And all the passion of my flesh for shade. Here there are shady grottoes from the darkness Of trees; the heat is here unpressed by walls;

[_Little_ DON RODRIGO _and_ DON GIOVANNI _come from behind a shrubbery_.

Here children at their play Show us their lissome bodies and red faces _Sol in Leone_ cannot agitate. My lords, you see we sink on holiday, And, fearful, take much care to keep our person From danger--so persuaded by these deaths Of daily happening: under ilex-trees We ply our statecraft. France has bidden us Prove our fidelity and help her king To oust from Naples Spain. Our holy troops And gonfalon will be in readiness Within six days, and we must part awhile From our Duke Cesare.

CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

Wise sacrifice! You know the Church has all to gain from France.

ALEXANDER.

So it is thought, my lord. ... Well, mite, Giovanni! You run across the gravel with a shell, A little, empty house, and hot as lead Fired from a cannon? Nestle all your curls Under a few, large vine-leaves. Tell Rodrigo He must not dip his head within the fountain-- The cold will make him break out of a plague. Run, run and pull him from the brim.... Yes, baby, Leave me your shell. My lords, go in awhile. Poto shall serve cooled wine.

CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

No, no! To drink increases thirst. I will not drink.

ALEXANDER.

Cooled wine--

CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

No, no!

[_The_ POPE _laughs deprecatingly_.

ALEXANDER.

I have not poisoned it.

CARDINAL SEGOVIA.

No, no!

[_They bow deeply to each other, and_ POTO _takes the_ CARDINAL _and_ BISHOP _within_.

ALEXANDER.

[_To one of the children, as he perceives his son._

Roble, play further off!

[DUKE CESARE DE VALENTINOIS DELLA ROMAGNA _comes to his side_.

Just up and had your meal? There is some sense in your strange hours when _Sol_ Is _in Leone_--night for day! But, though your room be marble, what Inferno Of flame to sleep through the bare hotness.

CESARE.

Father, If you enjoy the fresher feel of night, I bring an invitation you will welcome From the Lord Adrian of Cornuto.

ALEXANDER.

Ah, He has a vineyard under broad-leaved shadow, Where gods could sup.

CESARE.

Where you will sup, To-morrow evening.

ALEXANDER.

_Baccho!_ It will be cool. The country is a blessing To think of when it darkens and revives.

CESARE.

You will not heat with riding at that hour.

ALEXANDER.

And I am careful now ... a little anxious To see you start.

CESARE.

Too hot and still For camps or marches ... like a painful dream!

[_He sits by his father._

ALEXANDER.

Ay, so, so! Cesare, if this strong heat Struck me with apoplexy, pest, or fever, You would be struck with peril.... O my heart, My prince, could you endure from your own root, And bear the shock of onset?

CESARE.

Always I built broad the foundations of my power. The kindred Of all I dispossessed are gone from earth, Where no successor of your Holiness Could raise them my opponents: half my train Is filled with high-born nobles, once the servants Of Colonnesi and Orsini, now My gentlemen and hung upon my fortune As it were hope itself: the Sacred College, You know, is more than half subservient to me.... But--are you ailing?

ALEXANDER.

No, no--hot and dull, Not ailing.

CESARE.

There are dancers, courtesans, Who will in movements of the long-lost breeze Fan the dead air--if you will visit me To-night: to-morrow in the vineyard-garden We sup.... ’Tis hard to get the dancers now: The women shut their doors and strike their bodies In terror at the fever that can kill. They need await no other--lust is dead. ... You will announce at the next Consistory I join the French?

ALEXANDER.

Ay--with the treaties Between us and the Spaniards and Gonsalvo Safe in my coffers: for the French will fail; And, though they raised you up, they hold you back From Florence and your clutch on Tuscany. You have Romagna firm.

CESARE.

O father, Live a few years and I shall be your king! As you love me, live till Tuscany is mine. Live, live!

ALEXANDER.

For you I have done harder things than conquer death.

[_They are silent._

What are the great eyes dreaming of?

CESARE.

The heat, And something dreadful in it--of the places, Corneto, Piombino, yet ungirdled By one domain. [_Rising impetuously._] Oh, to desert the French! Although I march As of their army, at their first reverse We close the northern passages.

ALEXANDER.

Ha, ha, ha! ha! A trap for Louis.... --Cardinal Michele Was suddenly distempered by this ill, Dying as swiftly as if venom wrought: So fatal is the weather to stout frames! Son, I incline to fat.... I would I owned Your thin and agile limbs.

CESARE.

I would that half the years Of my short life--for, like Achilles’, short My life will be, if glorious--I might give To build yours over four score years and ten!

ALEXANDER.

Ah, God! Such wishes weigh on me unkindly, ... Nay, not unkindly! But your eyes are swept So wide across the breadths of Italy, You call up years for me as if you were A necromancer, not my very son Whose proud, hot Spanish blood, whose fire and courage Have given my flesh its youth again so often. Your mother’s land is changing you, beloved-- All schemes, all plots ... and where now is the smile That flashed along your lips and made me sing _Ave Maria plena gratia_--where?

[CESARE _moves impatiently_.

CESARE.

I am grown anxious, as my foemen’s watch When one of my huge pieces takes its station For ruin’s work.... This pestilential heat!... Well, Roble, what an orange you have snatched, Round as your eyes! [_To_ ALEXANDER.] Lucrece!--Oh, have you seen her Look at you from the child? [_With a bitter laugh._] I shall begin To talk of years ago, like an old man. Farewell! They need me at the Mola. [_With a smile._] Then to night The dance! To-morrow the _al fresco_ feast! [_Exit._

ALEXANDER.

I’m envious of Lucrezia, and weary, More weary than with August--all my passion Hard on my heart at last! My Cesare, --Beautiful and cold as steel, his mind Shining and shallow as the moon--for certain, If he had been Medea, he had simmered My ageing body in the cauldron’s flood, Like Æson’s, for his purpose.... Solitary! Age, age! And when the young are still, The young who should be noisy, it is vacant. I shall see Lucrezia in the spring: and yet I know I shall not see her. There, I am glad The children have been captured by their nurse. _Buona notte_, little ones! [_The_ CHILDREN _are taken away_. Ah, but I would I were as other fathers, and could make him My heritor, and aid him by my death. It is so good the old should die; It is very good to die, but I must live; I must subserve, must give my hand In signature to any of his dreams, Taking, _in caritate_, A lovely eye-glance from him.... And Lucrece Gone too, her husband’s prisoner! Where my Pearl And my great royal Diamond have been set Here in my bosom--hollows! And this twilight Is filling them.... [_With a sudden, terrified cry._] Lucrezia, Cesare! Lucrece!