Dear Holiness, my Father....
ALEXANDER.
Ah, Child—Lucrezia! The pale eyes are rounding
To pearls, great precious pearls, that feed their orbs
Upon a sea of tears.... But you are young,
Scarce twenty-two, and, yonder in the north,
One half of you
Is now already at your sovereign home.
Listen, my little girl: be circumspect
Among the Este, blameless to their watching:
But with a gentle steadfastness of pride
Meet and overthrow their arrogance ... God keep you
From cold disdain or cruelty!
LUCREZIA.
Father, my courage
Is sure for I have won my husband’s father:
His brothers too, though nobly formal still,
As fashion rules their manners, have kind faces,
An air that makes me brave.
You must not pine, dear father,
Nor look for me too often, nor remember
I am so far away.
ALEXANDER.
Nay, no caught breath!
Sobs will not help my Duchess home.
Ah, sweeting,
They do not do up at Ferrara there
As we in Rome: they live less joyously.
But you, a woman, will be sensitive
To all I stumble at the hinting of.
The peg you sing to must be set less high,
Less near Olympus. My bold horsewoman,
You must not tarry as with me to watch
The stallions worship Venus: those rich flames
Are out of mode for Don Alfonso’s wife....
Your feet will often weary for the dance—
You shake your head.... Well, then, a fruitful couch,
A sturdy race of princes be engendered
To comfort you! Lucrezia, O Lucrece,
The Vatican without you—the procession
Of gaudy midnights and no feather-footed,
Sweet daughter making grace, embroidering
The torchlight with her silver attitudes,
And floating flash of diamonds, till the dawn
Came to me from her swaying pearls, and eyes
Half-open in the languid Spanish dance!
Day after day my coffers will boil up
With pearl on pearl for you.... To-morrow morning
I shall drop in the largest of the East.
And, Duchess of Ferrara, anything
We can perform for you is done the moment
It is but a desire within your hope.
LUCREZIA.
Dear Holiness, you whelm me with your love!
Take care for me, my father, of your health.
Cesare will be dutiful and anxious
To make your evenings merry—but so soon
Cesare will be from you at his wars.