Charles: It shall be three.
Secretary: "And send a hundred men
Armed 'gainst the foes that threaten Italy."
Charles: See to it, yes, Antonio, ere a dawn.
Secretary: "He must also yield up the princess Fulvia
Who's fled her father's house and rightful marriage."
Fulvia (to Julian): You told me not of this—no word, my lord!
Cardinal: My silence as my speech is not my own.
Charles: We'll more of it—a measure more.
Read on.
Secretary: "And for the better amity and weal
Of Italy and Christ's most Holy Church,
He is enjoined to wed with Beatrice
Of Florence. If his wilful boldness grants
Obedience, his sins shall melt to rest
Under the calm of full forgiveness. He——"
Charles: A mild, a courteous, O a modest Pope!
I must tear from my happiness a friend
Who fled a father's searing cruelty,
And cast her back in the flames! And I must bind
My crippled years that fare toward the grave
In the cold clasp of an unloving hand!
No! No!
Then, sir, and Cardinal, 'tis not enough!
I pray you swift again to Rome and plead
Most suppliantly that I for penance may
Swear my true son is shame-begot, or lend
My kin to drink clean of its fouling damp
Some pestilent prison! And 'tis impious too
That any still should trust my love. Beseech
His Holiness' command for death upon them!
Cardinal: This is your answer?