Collected Works of Rafael Sabatini

by Rafael Sabatini

  In this way it seemed to me possible to satisfy my own conceptions without doing violence to popular belief.

  But since in spite of this care with which I sought to steer a justifiable middle course between conflicting schools, I have not escaped the charge of having whitewashed Cesare Borgia, it seems to me that I may have done here better historical service than I set out to do. For the explanation should lie in the fact that it is impossible to combine in one person the gifted prince of Soderini and Macchiavelli with the brutal scoundrel of Guicciardini and his literary successors.

  CHARACTERS

  (In the order of their speaking)

  PANTHASILEA DEGLI SPERANZONI

  GIULIA

  COUNT GUIDO DEGLI SPERANZONI Tyrant of Solignola.

  SANTAFIORA A Condottiero.

  D’ALDI Of the Council of Ten of Solignola.

  GIANLUCA DELLA PIEVE A Patrician of Assisi.

  DEL CAMPO } Of the Council of Solignola.

  PAVIANO }

  SENESCHAL OF SOLIGNOLA

  PRINCE ERCOLE SINIBALDI Envoy of Venice.

  A SWISS DOORKEEPER

  RAMIREZ }

  MICHELETTO DA CORELLA }Condottieri in the service of Valentinois

  SCIPIONE }

  NICCOLO MACCHIAVELLI Secretary of State of Florence.

  CAPELLO Orator of Venice.

  A CHAMBERLAIN

  AGABITO GHERARDI Secretary to Valentinois.

  CESARE BORGIA, DUKE OF VALENTINOIS AND ROMAGNA

  GINO A peasant.

  GIOVANNI Seneschal of the Pieve Palace.

  Silent Parts:

  GASPARO Orator of Mantua.

  MARIANO Orator of Ferrara.

  TWO COUNCILLORS OF SOLIGNOLA

  THREE LADIES OF ASSISI

  FOUR GENTLEMEN OF ASSISI

  FOUR SWISS GUARDS

  FOUR MEN-AT-ARMS

  TWO MONKS

  TWO LACKEYS

  TWO PAGES

  CARDINAL REMOLINO

  FERRANTE A Condottiero

  SCENES

  ACT I. A Hall in the Castle of Solignola.

  ACT II. The Antechamber in the Communal Palace at Assisi.

  ACT III. A room in the Pieve Palace, Assisi.

  ACT IV. As Act I.

  CAST OF THE ORIGINAL PRODUCTION

  At the Theatre Royal, Birmingham, on the 9th March, and subsequently at the New Theatre, London, on the 18th March, 1925.

  PANTHASILEA DEGLI SPERANZONI Miss Isobel Elsom.

  GIULIA Miss Nona Wynne.

  GUIDO DEGLI SPERANZONI Mr. Wilfrid Walter.

  SANTAFIORA Mr. Douglas Ross.

  D’ALDI Mr. A. W. Tyrer.

  GIANLUCA DELLA PIEVE Mr. Frank Vosper.

  DEL CAMPO Mr. Ernest Bodkin.

  PAVIANO Mr. Anderson Melrose.

  SENESCHAL OF SOLIGNOLA Mr. D. Morrison.

  PRINCE ERCOLE SINIBALDI Mr. Edmund Willard.

  MARIANO Mr. Walter Lake.

  CAPELLO Mr. Ernest Bodkin.

  SWISS SOLDIER Mr. Donald Wolfit.

  NICCOLò MACCHIAVELLI Mr. Leonard Shepherd.

  RAMIREZ Mr. Henry C. Hewitt.

  SCIPIONE Mr. Owen Cassidy.

  CHAMBERLAIN Mr. Walter Menpes.

  MICHELETTO DA CORELLA Mr. R. Campbell Fletcher.

  CARDINAL REMOLINO Mr. William Magill Martyn.

  AGABITO GHERARDI Mr. Cecil Cameron.

  CESARE BORGIA Mr. Matheson Lang.

  GIOVANNI Mr. Alec S. Clunes.

  The Action takes place in the Spring of 1503.

  Between Acts I. and II. and Acts II. and III. a week elapses in each case;

  between Acts III. and IV. a day elapses.

  ACT I

  A Hall in the Castle of Solignola.

  A spacious chamber on the first floor of the castle, severe in tone. Its grey stone walls show bare here and there between the strips of sombre-hued tapestries with which in the main they are hung; the ceiling is crudely frescoed. The main entrance — double-doors of square design, massive of timber, fortified by metal — are in the back flat, a little to the right of the middle. They open directly on to an external stair-head with a shallow parapet, whence steps descend, left, to the ground level below. The farther buildings of the wide court-yard are seen on the backcloth when this door is open.

  The loggia is in the same fiat, to the left. Its ceiling is carried on seven slender pillars (two at each side and three at the back) delicately carved and painted. These rise from a parapet rather higher than that of the stairhead, and the outlook thence is upon distant hills. Against this parapet a bench is set, rather like a window-seat, equipped with loose leather cushions.

  There is a door low down in the right flat, and opposite to this a great cowled fireplace, decorated by armorial bearings in relief and coloured. The floor is of stone, grey and unrelieved. It may be strewn with rushes. Below this a heavy table is set squarely across, rather low and a little to the left of midstage. Five stools are placed about this table, three above, two below, and an armchair at each end. A carved and gilded throne-like chair stands R.C. against the wall at back, between doors and loggia, on a small dais. There is an armchair with cushioned seat against flat R.

  AT RISE OF CURTAIN the armchair by the hearth is occupied by COUNT GUIDO DEGLI SPERANZONI, a vigorous man of fifty, with grizzled hair and a shaven, aquiline face, strong and crafty. He is well dressed, without fripperies, his exterior, like his bearing, marking him for a soldier rather than a man of courts. He sits brooding, chin in palm.

  On the bench in the loggia sits PANTHASILEA DEGLI SPERANZONI, a beautiful woman of twenty-three, regal of mien and carriage, dressed simply, yet with a certain richness betokening her rank; thus there are jewels in her girdle and in the gold network that confines her hair.

  On a cushion at her feet sits GIULIA. Younger than Panthasilea, she is by contrast almost child-like. She fills the office of companion and lady-in-waiting to Count Guido’s daughter.

  It is the afternoon of a day in early Spring.

  PANTHASILEA is singing, accompanying herself upon an archlute, and the first stanza of her song may be heard before the curtain actually rises:

  Life is an anguish grown, a source of tears,

  For Love lies stark and cold on his last bed,

  A round of broken days and empty years

  When hope is dead.

  There is no joy in song, nor solace yet

  In all the tears demanding to be shed;

  Vainly we sigh our longings, vainly fret

  When hope is dead.

  Thus in Life’s fetters still a pris’ner held,

  Eating of hopelessness the bitter bread,

  Waiting...

  [Her utterance becomes choked by tears. It breaks off on a sob. GUIDO starts up in solicitude, whilst GIULIA, rising to her knees, puts her arm about Panthasilea.

  GIULIA: Monna Lea! Monna Lea!

  GUIDO: Panthasilea, my child! (He goes quickly up to her.) Why will you make songs to afflict you

  [PANTHASILEA rises, and relinquishes the lute to GIULIA. She controls herself.

  PANTHASILEA: Have patience, Father. Forgive me. You know my loss...

  GUIDO (in fond impatience) But these melancholy songs...

  PANTHASILEA: The tongue will touch where the tooth aches.

  [He sets an arm affectionately about her shoulders, and together they come slowly down.

  PANTHASILEA (to GIULIA): GO, leave me, child. I will call you if I need you. (To GUIDO.) It is solacing to weep sometimes. Mostly I think my heart is dead dead, and buried in Pesaro with my poor murdered Pietro.

  [GIULIA goes half-reluctantly out by the door down R.

  GUIDO: Surely there’s more solace in the thought that by now he will be avenged — avenged with all those other victims of evil Borgia ambition.

  PANTHASILEA If I could be sure that Cesare Borgia has paid...

  GUIDO: Be sure he has — paid terribly. The snare at Sinigaglia was shrewdly laid. By now he’s fast in the jaws o
f it.

  [She sinks into the chair lately occupied by Guido. He remains standing over her.

  PANTHASILEA: Snares have been set for him before, and always has it been the fowler who’s been taken.

  GUIDO: Not this time! Not this time. Never were there such fowlers as these — his own captains, leagued with the Orsini, against him. Three days ago he went to Sinigaglia...to make his peace with them; and the place an armed cam, they’ll have made his peace for him.

  PANTHASILEA (fervently): I hope they have.

  GUIDO: Be sure of it. Cesare Borgia, Duke of Valentinois will have been in hell these three days.

  PANTHASILEA: And yet...(With sudden anxiety.) Why is this news delayed? If it was done three days ago...?

  GUIDO (interrupting): From Sinigaglia here it is at least a three days’ ride.

  PANTHASILEA: Not with such news as that. It would travel faster than the wind over the face of Italy.

  GUIDO: It would travel no faster than the news of failure. And we haven’t that — nor shall we have it. Failure is impossible.

  PANTHASILEA: You don’t think it may be known by now in Assisi...?

  GUIDO: The moment it is known there, we shall have Gianluca riding out here to Solignola. The desire to be near you will make him an eager messenger.

  PANTHASILEA (nodding and speaking wistfully); Poor Gianluca! (She sighs.)

  GUIDO (smiling): So that you begin by pitying him, in time you may come to...

  PANTHASILEA: Don’t, father! Ah, don’t!

  [He looks at her, and then shrugs understandingly.

  GUIDO: My dear, I should like to know that you have beside you a man whom I can trust, against the time when I am gone. And since poor Pietro Varano was killed at Pesaro...

  PANTHASILEA: That is why I cannot bear just now to speak...even to think...of...of this...

  [A mutter of voices outside and a clatter of steps on the stair arrest their attention. PANTHASILEA rises, her voice is strained.

  PANTHASILEA: News! It will be news...at last!

  [The doors open, revealing now the stairhead. SANTAFIORA and ALDI come quickly in and down. Both are men of middle age. SANTAFIORA, the condottiero, burly and vigorous, his body cased in leather, a gorget of mail at his throat, a heavy dagger at his girdle, his close-cropped head covered by a cap of purple velvet (as a protection from his helmet now discarded) which fits his skull like his own hair; ALDI is frail, delicate and bearded, urbane of manner, soberly patrician in his dress.

  [SANTAFIORA exclaims breathlessly as he advances.

  SANTAFIORA: My lord! My lord! Here is Messer d’Aldi with great tidings.

  [GUIDO and his daughter turn eagerly to face the newcomer.

  GUIDO: Ah! Be doubly welcome, then, my friend. (He holds out his hand.)

  [ALDI takes it, then bows low, hat in hand, to PANTHASILEA, who stands tensely waiting.

  ALDI: It is no more than a rumour as yet — a rumour current in the townships of the valley — that Valentino was slain on Monday in Sinigaglia.

  GUIDO (gloomily): A rumour?

  SANTAFIORA: Ay — but most oddly circumstantial. Tell him, sir.

  ALDI: Why, thus the story runs: On Monday morning Valentino, attended by only a few lances, rode into Sinigaglia to make his peace with the Orsini and with those of his own captains who had been in rebellion against him.

  GUIDO: Ay, ay — that is what was concerted.

  ALDI: These captains had sent him offers of renewed allegiance and invited him to meet them there. And, he, believing them sincere, delivered himself into their hands.

  GUIDO: Yes, yes. And how did it befall?

  ALDI: Of that there are no details yet, beyond the fact that the Duke of Gravina stabbed him with his own hand.

  GUIDO (his voice vibrant, to Panthasilea): You hear, Lea?

  ALDI: His head, they say, is on a pike over the gate on the Misa.

  PANTHASILEA: Just God, I thank thee!

  GUIDO (drawing a deep breath): At last! At last we are rid of this nightmare! At last we can breathe again! And in the Romagna, what is happening?

  ALDI: There are rumours of fighting at Cesena, which is very loyal to him. But I have heard of little else — save that Sforza is back in Pesaro, Caterina’s son marching on Imola, and Malatesta hastening to repossess himself of Rimini.

  GUIDO (laughing): So that in a little while all will be as it was before this papal scourge was loosed on Italy.

  PANTHASILEA (sadly): Nay, not quite all. Pietro Varano will not return to life.

  SANTAFIORA: But his brother lives, and will be back in Camerino soon.

  PANTHASILEA: What is that to me?

  GUIDO: Something, surely, Lea, when you consider how it comes about. Cesare Borgia, Duke of Valentinois, is dead, and your Pietro avenged with all the others.

  SANTAFIORA: Think of it — by the Host! Valentino at whose name all Italy shuddered — just so much carrion. Ha!

  GUIDO: Santafiora, the event demands celebration. There shall be bonfires here on the heights of Solignola, and meat and wine for all. Summon the patricians of the town and...

  [A growing mutter of voices off. GUIDO interrupts himself.

  GUIDO What’s that?

  A VOICE OF SENESCHAL (off — above the general mutter): Stay while I go to announce you to my lord...

  ANOTHER VOICE (GIANLUCA’S): No need. I know my way...

  [Steps clatter up the stairs.

  PANTHASILEA: It is Gianluca.

  GUIDO (gaily): Aha I Gianluca at last, from Assisi, with the news.

  SANTAFIORA (laughing): By Heaven, he’s behind the fair this time.

  [The doors are flung violently open, and GIANLUCA DELLA PIEVE comes in quickly.

  [He is a young man of not more than twenty-five, slightly built and of an almost effeminate beauty; his personality suggests amiability and sensibility but no strength. He is richly dressed for riding, cloaked and covered with a broad round hat, which, as he enters, he removes from his head, leaving it slung behind him by cords from his shoulders. He is splashed and dusty from head to foot; his face is white, his manner distraught.

  [He flings forward wildly, striking dismay into those present.

  GIANLUCA: My lord! My lord! Have you heard the news?

  GUIDO: That Valentino is dead?

  GIANLUCA (in bitter derision): Dead? He was never more alive — never more powerful — never more firmly in the ducal saddle!

  [The consternation is general.

  [GUIDO reels, clutches the back of a chair for support, gasping.

  ALDI: Surely, Ser Gianluca, there is some mistake...

  GIANLUCA (shouting, scornfully): Mistake?

  ALDI: In the townships of the valley the rumour runs that...

  GIANLUCA: Rumour! What have I to do with rumour? I bring you fact — hideous fact.

  SANTAFIORA: But what the devil has happened then? Didn’t he go to Sinigaglia?

  GIANLUCA (grimly): Ay — he went.

  GUIDO: He went! But then, the trap?

  GIANLUCA: The trap, sir, caught them that set it — caught them fast by their silly necks. On my soul, I don’t know whether to weep or laugh. They took this basilisk for a pigeon. They beguiled him by the sweetness of their whistling, and he came — oh, most obligingly! a very dove of peace.

  GUIDO: But if he came...

  GIANLUCA: He brought more troops at his heels than they had expected: That gave them pause. They must wait and make their opportunity. Meanwhile to keep suspicion slumbering there was most courteous interchange of loving phrases. And when they would have taken leave of him at the Palace, he insisted that they must in with him, and drink a cup to pledge their happy reconciliation. They went, poor fools. And no sooner were they in, than his gentlemen fell upon them and. made them fast.

  [GUIDO sinks limply into his chair.

  SANTAFIORA: All of them?

  GIANLUCA: All but Baglioni, who was fortunately ill, and Petrucci, who was wise. Petrucci stayed away. He’s at Siena safe for the
present among his own people.

  GUIDO: But these others — these who were taken.