[Stopping suddenly in the middle of the room.
Where is he,—my young son,
My beautiful Giovanni? You stand round,
Wise with the Church’s wisdom, but where is he?
He may be living, tortured, gagged.... He is not!
No, there is come a change in me; I know
He is not breathing with me any more,
And yet I cannot bid you pray for him;
I do not count him dead. He is but lost,
And lost so deep I do not think a creature,
Nor even his Creator knows the place
That he has wandered to. The lost must wander,
They have no goal, not even hell, no rest.
They have their freedom as the unbaptized
To rove in horror where none plucks the sleeve
Or questions them or bids good-day.
They wander on till they are flitting ghosts,
Till they are elemental and dissolved,
And when they would entreat us, they must rail
In the howling wind about our chimney-stacks.
So I encounter my Giovanni—so!
So I was tutored of the storm last night.
He is not breathing with us any more!
CARDINAL BORGIA.
Have faith, his body will be found.
ALEXANDER.
His body!
When last I saw the boy
He shook his golden poll with merriment
That I received his Spanish mistress here,
A most devout and humble Catholic,
With eyes dark wells for Cupid’s thirst. He laughed,
Till all the room was sunbeams from his mirth.
Donna Adriana Orsini enters, supporting Donna Lucrezia Borgia. They are deeply veiled.
If God
Turn such a thing as that to carrion—then
I shall curse God. [He makes a gesture of imprecation.
[Turning to Lucrezia.] Well, wanton, you look white!
What comfort have you? Would you be a nun
That you crept to San Sisto from your palace
Soon as you heard? Is not this missing boy
Your brother? You would steal from any noise.
The tumult of the people and its rage
Is round Giovanni’s name; but yesterday
The bruit of the town was of Lucrezia.
If any, you should suffer from men’s tongues,
And you refuse to suffer. All reproaches
Drive you more dumb. But now you shall not cloak
This mystery as if it were a relic.
You have been with the boy: you know
Where he loved, where he was hated. All our loves
And hates are in your hands. You have grown more blind
Than any woman ever made herself
That she might see in the dark.
Give up your witness.
[Lucrezia remains before him silent, with open mouth.
A little devil, circumspect,
When I would have rank truth.
[To the Cardinals.] Are these my children?
Oh, but I spare them ... we must spare our bastards,
It says in Holy Writ. [He goes towards the further window.