Act 6 — SCENE II
Reading edition
The Camp of the King of Navarre at Viana. A March tempest is blowing.
Enter Messer Agapito meeting Juanito Grasica in front of a tent that beats in the wind. Their torches are almost extinguished.
AGAPITO.
Juanito, have they drawn in the posts?
JUANITO.
All are retired to shelter, Secretary. These Navarrais received my lord’s command With manifest bewilderment.
AGAPITO.
Our Captain Has ever saved his troops fatigue and tempest: These men are rude in habit, and the lashing Of mountain-storms familiar. O my lad, We are not now in Italy.
JUANITO.
Ah, would we were! Señor Agapito, we have one breath: Our lives are for his use. What are your tidings?
AGAPITO.
His every hope miscarries—everywhere Hostility, abandon or suspicion: The Pope has drawn his treasure from the banks, Dried up the fountain of his polity, The means of gathering troops, the hope of calling His ancient captains to his side.
JUANITO.
O Señor, That letter from the King of France, withdrawing All revenues and honour from our lord, Joining his Dukedom and his French domains To Dauphiné and Berry, as they were Before the royal gift—did you consider ... Yes, but I see you did ... his look that day? It was a face of hell; and ever since His eyes throw flame out.
AGAPITO.
Think! He has engrossed The world’s resources from his earliest years, Marshal, as San Michele, of God’s hosts, And born Vicegerent.... Think! He now has nothing But his invincible, rejected sword. A pauper, and a hireling to his brother— This Navarrais, this kinglet—yet with sweep, A great glance on a little verge, he conquers These rebels of Viana and their chief Louis de Beaumont, that the petty realm Being consolidate and set between His foes of France and Spain, he may have option To hold o’er each the sword of Damocles. The brain that wrought at Sinigaglia once Works still among barbarians. But his lips, Like famished wolf-fangs, and his thwarted youth, His darkened joy in freedom!—I have wept ... Go in, go in!
JUANITO.
Such clouds of wind discharge, I do not feel the rain.
[King Don Juan of Navarre and Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna advance towards the tent with torch-bearers.
DON JUAN.
Our confidence Is strict in your direction—not a word From us to the great Captain, to the Son Of War: our trust is blind. You show distress At this rude blowing, and your velvet cloak Might well have been afloat upon a river. Good night; good sleep, my brother César. Scarcely In Italy the air rolls thus.
CESARE.
Good-night, Don Juan. Such a fan exasperates, Entering all senses.
[They shake hands. Don Juan goes out. Cesare motions his torch-bearer to withdraw.
Come, Juanito; Unarm me. To your tent, Agapito; You will have rheum to-morrow. [Exit Agapito. God!—the stroke Of wing this tempest has: there is no shield. Lift up the tent-skirt, Juan.
[They go in, and the sound is heard of armour flung on the floor. Then Cesare’s voice is heard.
[Within.] Take a cloak, A dry one from the press, and bear this message Back to Don Juan; I forgot. Look round! See that my stallion Is dry, and, fresh-caparisoned, waits ready In the next tent.
[Juanito comes from the tent and passes into the night.
The tramp, the cavalcade Of these cursed whirlwinds, of the secret legions— The hauntings of an army I shall never Command— [His voice rises.] shall never summon. I am void; I cannot buy the forces that I love; I cannot as a Suzerain compel ... I have no place, no rank, no furniture. This march, this freight of cannon—all were mine; I struck them on the air, cried Halt or On ... My patrimony! Deep where dreams outspread, A phantom army, Cesar’s army, rambles Ungeneralled. O fury of the night! This France that has rejected me, this Spain That bound me hand and foot, this Papacy That locks me from Romagna with its keys, From all my captains and my army calling Across the Alps—I have one lust, one cry For blood within me.... Ha, to plunge my sword In vengeance to the heart of France, the throat Of Spain, the entrails of the Vatican! To murder countries—not the flesh and blood Of just a man here, there, but states and kingdoms— Draw out their life! Has not all checking life Flowed forth in darkness to my sovereignty? If I have lost the land that I could rule, And if my army is a host of winds, I still can thirst for blood.... I have my sword, And, sword in hand, the last breath that I breathe Will be a breath of appetite and hate. I have my sword—
[He sweeps back the tent-skirts, and stands face to the storm, the torch behind him.
O shifting elements, Chaos is on me—I am not of Chaos! I could ride forth A single horseman riding forth to conquer The day, the night; I could confine these winds Had I the watchword.... Beaten back, destroyed! —Close in!
[He wraps the folds of the tent together. There is no sound in the tent.
A SENTRY’S VOICE.
Who passes? Pampeluna! Do you hear? I give you Pampeluna!... [In a whisper.] No, Saint Jaques! Then it must be the wind.
A SUDDEN GREAT CRY.
Beaumont, a Beaumont!
ALARUM FROM ANOTHER POST.
The enemy! Ho, ho! The enemy! Awake, wake!
ANOTHER CRY CLOSE AT HAND.
Beaumont!
CESARE’S VOICE.
[Within.] Duca! Blood of God! What is their war-cry? Beaumont?
[He throws open the doors of the tent, struggling into his armour. Juanito rushes up.
Ambushed by Fate! Juanito, the torch Is falling: light another. Do you see, I cannot find the buckles.... I must ride.... Fetch out my horse.... The corselet—that will serve.
[Juanito goes for the horse.
CRIES RENEWED.
Beaumont, a Beaumont!
CESARE.
[Snatching up his sword.] Curse the renegades! What is my war-cry? [He comes out of the tent bareheaded. It confuses me.... The tramp, the tramp! Ah, if I led an army! Ah, I could lead—on, on!
[The horse is brought.
JUANITO.
With one look at his master, as he mounts.
Unarmed!
[He runs into the tent.
CESARE.
[Laughing.] Unarmed!... The sweep, the rush, the hungry onset Sweep me along, cry round ... the engines crash! Banners of Hell, my banners on the wind!
JUANITO.
[Running out of the tent.] Stay—your celada!
CESARE.
Fling it! Duca! On!
[He dashes out of the courtyard. His escort has gathered and waits stupidly the word of command.
JUANITO.
He gave us no command. His horse has stumbled. Curses across the wind—
CESARE’S VOICE.
[Suddenly distinct, though far away.] On, Duca, on!
JUANITO.
He flies down the Solana in the wind. Mount, mount! God’s Love! But we must follow him.