SCENE III

_The_ ABBESS’ _room at the Convent of Corpus Domini at Ferrara. At the back there is a little shrine and a crucifix._

_The_ LORD CARDINAL IPPOLITO D’ESTE _converses with_ MESSER CRISTOFERO.

CRISTOFERO.

It will not be her death; she has such safety As quiet pinions give to birds in storm.

IPPOLITO.

I dared not tell her till her husband wrote: His letter trembles in my hand....

CRISTOFERO.

For days She has been pacing, fasting, full of terrors Worse far than any term! The air has quickened To prophet’s divination--noise and silence Was in it of great woe. She comes.... God’s mercy!

_Enter_ DUCHESS LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ESTE, _in the dress of a penitent, her hair unbound_.

LUCREZIA.

He is dead, Ippolito!

IPPOLITO.

Read--from your husband.

LUCREZIA.

Tell me ... the parchment rocks.... You see My hands, my eyes are helpless; but my soul Is firmer. Tell me....

CRISTOFERO.

He is dead, Madonna!

LUCREZIA.

God told me--and I only hear it now! Cesare!--and so far, so far.... Oh, tell me, Save me in nothing: I shall lose all refuge Of credence if you do not make me sure As death that he is dead.

IPPOLITO.

The letter----

LUCREZIA.

Some voice to tell me!

IPPOLITO.

[_To_ CRISTOFERO.] Call Juanito. [_Exit_ CRISTOFERO. Sister, if you would learn, the King Don Juan Has sent the faithful squire whose feet have followed Your soldier to his grave.

LUCREZIA.

Whose feet have followed, Among the foreigners....

IPPOLITO.

O Light of Arms! His wife, his sister will lament for him, As round the dead Achilles wept Cassandra, And wept Polyxena, That in the world none lived redoubtable As he who everywhere brought peace or war. He drew his doom as lightnings ever strike The mountain-heights Acroceraunian, While lesser mountains stretch along, unflamed. We leave him to God’s judgment, in the glory And terror of those strokes.

_Re-enter_ CRISTOFERO _with_ JUANITO GRASICA.

LUCREZIA.

By your own eyes, By your own lips, vow you will tell me truth.

[JUANITO _lays his forehead on her hand_.

Where?

JUANITO.

At Viana in Navarre.

LUCREZIA.

Viana!... It is as distant as the grave.

JUANITO.

He challenged The outposts of the Count of Lérin....

LUCREZIA.

That Is nothing now--foregone! Speak but of him; The moment, my extremity.

JUANITO.

We lost him; His horse affrighted galloped on the blast; He disappeared beneath us where the lea Broke to ravine: we heard the hoofs beneath us, And cries of fierce pursuit ... but all was darkness.

[_He weeps bitterly._

LUCREZIA.

Yes, weep, weep--it is well! Now speak of him.

JUANITO.

Dawn found me tangled by the night, and crying In the alien, stone wilderness, a captive. They brought his arms, His sparkling arms; they questioned of the Prince Who wore them.

LUCREZIA.

But the moment....

JUANITO.

Of a sudden The foe retreated, leaving me: I reached The rough-hewn gorge....

[_Near to her and in a changed voice._

He lay there, naked He lay....

[LUCREZIA _folds her arms over her breast as with a close embrace_.

--his face under the sky: his wounds A hero’s--twenty-three; across his loins A bloodied stone, his life-blood round the rocks, His hair a weft of red. How beautiful, And wild and out of memory was his face! The great wind swept him and the sun rose up ...

LUCREZIA.

They buried him?

JUANITO.

Beside the lectern of St. Mary’s church Within Viana, and the pomp was great, For he had thought to bind a crown on once: They gave him kingly honours.

LUCREZIA.

Oh, pray for him, That he may rest in peace! There must be peace. Great, agitated Spirit! Oh, let prayers, Reverend Ippolito, let prayers be said In every church, at every altar-stone, By all the quiet lips that wait on God. Leave me.... The prayers, the prayers, dear Cardinal, That he may rest in everlasting peace! Cristofero and the poor Squire--all go. All pray for us.

[_They leave her and she kneels before the crucifix of the little shrine._

Cesare, O my eagle!... The stony tract!... I am but for thy use To pray thee into peace, to win a crown Even now for thee, where the vast Majesty Gives each his destined aim made bright by prayers. _Maria_, aid! It is his heritage. Spare him and aid me! Every day, at night, On through the years while I must see the sun Who have lost my sun fallen in that dire west-- On to the silence of the hour of death, Let me not cease my voice! It is my love Sole to him, as I am. O Cesare, My body evermore, till sepulture, Shall bind the hair-shirt to its flesh as barbs, Never forgetful how thou wert cast forth Stripped to the sky, with nothing in the world To plead to God with but thy valiant blood, Thy regal front below Him. I could almost Swoon into prayer, but for the intercession Of the great, peaceful companies on earth, And bowing through the heavens and round God’s Throne.

[_She sinks into a still ecstasy. Silently_ SUOR LUCIA _enters and kneels beside her_.