Act 6 — SCENE I
Reading edition
Three years later.
A small Tower-prison of the Castle of La Mota del Medina in Spain.
Against one wall, hung with a canvas, four or five gyr-falcons sit leashed on a perch.
Don Cesare Borgia leans out of the narrow window, watching the pitch of his gyr-falcon. The Governor Don Pedro de Tapia and a squire, Juanito Grasica, stand behind him.
CESARE.
She rows the air, she towers ... now makes her point, Now waits—she waits up the free air. Magnificent!... A kite that she would vanquish.... Quarry—and she upon her tower ... free to drink blood.
[He looks back and laughs.
Ha! Like a loosened thunderbolt she stoops!... Could you but see! Amazing! Who-whoop! She flies too hard ... who-whoop!—and cannot hold: ’Tis death, but so impetuous in the dealing Her quarry is struck down. [Turning again. Señor Don Pedro, My vehement gyr-falcon loses me Her quarry in your ditch....
DON PEDRO.
It shall be sought.
CESARE.
No, leave it—that were tame!
[With a profound sigh he holds out the lure to which at last the falcon comes; then he gives the bird to Juanito, who ties her on the screen-perch.
Is the sun setting?—Vespers from the Church Of San Lorenzo! [To Don Pedro.] We are gratified By this long visit, for the course of things Is brought by you in current to our eyrie, Clear up from life upon your voice. We may not Detain you longer.
DON PEDRO.
But I exult, Don Cesar De Borjà, in the converse of a man Who held the crown of Mars in Italy. There is lifting of the heart and joy of blood When you recount....
CESARE.
Don Pedro, My chaplain will confess me presently; The soul must reach that vein.
DON PEDRO.
Forgive! No further moment! Adieu. [Exit.
CESARE.
[With a snarling yawn, like a caged animal’s.
Begone!—He wearied me a year. When will his servant, black Magona, bring us The coil of rope?
JUANITO.
At sunset, Excellence.
CESARE.
Now the king-star Is falling down below the rocks—and blue As a sea-deep is the hollow we must tempt; It is blue: one venturing bird Makes it gigantic with a little shake, An arietta.... We must drop down lower Than the bird’s song—it is not from the ground. Look, my Juanito! Aside I hitch my shoulders through this narrow And windy crevice of the barbican. I am as agile and as thin as you, I feel as young— Case-hardened from that pestilence, a tower Among my race; strong as La Mota; A creature that but needs to touch the earth To be Antaeus and invincible. You shall descend first—death for you or freedom. Then welcome death or freedom! Could I, Juan, Leave you behind— We who sailed out together, desolate, And for three years have tasted unenjoyed Sleep, and the vigil that has been our lives? We do not on a peradventure part: You have the lighter bones, the cord will bear you Down to the grass so featly, it will signal Its eagerness to me.... Juanito, How full a man you come from these three years! Will everything be changed as you?
JUANITO.
Oh, no! Those who have loved you cannot love you more; They cannot grow in that. Her Excellence Your sister will be happy Beyond the last hope of her weariness At the free news.
CESARE.
Lucrezia! I can watch her— How at Ferrara all her life goes by; How, from her sun-red towers, across the plain She is looking out, and cannot see the prison That stifles me: her eyes as they look out Turn Amor into stone. When will the rope be brought? How soon? This Garcia de Magona will not Betray me as Gonsalvo at the last?
JUANITO.
Garcia is safe; he burns to furnish you.
CESARE.
How wider The steepness stretches, the tranquillity! What does it promise? It is Fortune’s Pit, That gapes in Spain, that swallowed me awhile In Rome and Naples, and then cast me out Alive upon this pinnacle. And now.... The world will be my chess-board, I survey Until occasion hail me. There is Louis Of France would set his horse to tread with mine; The Emperor hates as Pope the Rovere; Gonzaga lord of Mantua will espouse My fellowship, Ferrara is fraternal; My brother of Navarre; to whom I fly, Strangely accordant....
[He gazes out in concentrated reverie. A key is turned softly at the door; Garcia de Magona enters, bringing ropes.
JUANITO.
[In a whisper to himself.] But my lord is rapt! How still the Spanish boy, His black hair shining and his ears with edges Of the clear ruddiness of pomegranates, The light of sunset is so shed on him.
[He waits till Garcia has locked the door on the inside, then steals towards him.
GARCIA.
Be swift! Hush, lay them in the chest beneath your clothes. They are good—they will be faithful to the Duke.... Christ grant his other means be safe as these! Will he not turn? Though of a different race, This lord, who is so reverend and so dreadful, Is homely and most courteous to the poor. I would not have you trouble him.
JUANITO.
Garcia, I dare not Utter your coming since he misses it. With widely-open nostrils and great eyes, He hangs above the gulf.
GARCIA.
Tell him, Juanito, One night when he is out of Spain in safety, I went to San Lorenzo, for his sake, To pray the Saints would bear him in their hands. Cover the rope! A trumpet will be blown Down in the fosse, when Don Rodrigo’s men Are ready with the horses. All my life Is in to-night if he is saved. Farewell! [Exit.
[Juanito hides the rope and sits on the chest in the last red of the sunset, singing to himself.
“Gentil Signore, Cesare Borgia, figlio del Pastore.”
CESARE.
[As if waking.] Why, that is what they sing at my Cesena, ’Mid the snow-marbled Apennine. My shepherds Hailed me the Shepherd’s son—their simpleness Could so attune the distant Vatican With their cool valleys ... and I cannot laugh.
JUANITO.
I have the rope: soon you will hear a call Hummed up upon a trumpet.
CESARE.
O royal Italy! O my Romagna ... but I cannot breathe! The sun is fallen, the air of the abyss Blows like blue fields of waving flax. Look down! The little stream Zapadiel disappears, And the wild brushwood and the flock of goats; Even the East has faded.... Did you tell me They play up from the fosse a trumpet-note When the horses wait? Once more to touch a bridle, Once more astride to feel the rocking flanks! Ha, ha! And then my sudden apparition, As if I were the devil. Hark, a sound! Listen! [He trembles all over. A snake-note darting up ... a bugle!
JUANITO.
No, no, no! The bleating of a goat.
CESARE.
How closely darkening The shadows favour us ... and there are rumours The wind takes from the ground of horses’ hoofs....
[A trumpet is lightly blown.
Fortune, my war-cry once again! [Juanito rushes for the rope.] Aut Cesar, Aut nihil! But to-day I take the plunge, I dare the pit, the downfall. [To Juanito.] Knot it here more firmly, Round this crenelle—steady! It must not jag.... Now my light ball, I throw you to the breezes, Ding-dangle—thus! [He lets Juanito down.] Your odds, Juanito, Against the wheel of Fortune! ... He keeps hold— O boy! the rope is taut. It holds.... This cumbers me. [Throwing off his cloak. Our Lord God, in His infinite clemency, And for His greater glory against Fate’s Vicissitudes.... A jerk!—the final die is cast! Cesar—or nothing!
[He climbs down the rope into the ravine, as voices are heard on the stairs. The door opens and Don Pedro rushes in with soldiers.
DON PEDRO.
What horn-call was that? Gone, gone! Our peril, Our loss! I reel ... He shall not so escape. Death, or our re-possession of him! Down, Traitor, blasphemer, down! Down!
[He cuts the rope, motioning some of the soldiers to descend.
[After awhile.
Guards, are you there?
A VOICE.
[Just heard from below.
They dragged him to their horses—all are fled.