Don Tarquinio: A Kataleptic Phantasmatic Romance (Valancourt eClassics)

by Frederick Rolfe

  When we first looked upon each other, our attention was arrested by means of the sense of sight: but, when words had passed, we recognized each other as being of equal texture, even as one star doth recognize another crossing the firmament of heaven, or as travellers returning to their dear homes recognize their kindred standing on the threshold greeting.

  After many words had been spoken: for, as soon as the glances of our eyes first clashed together, striking the spark of sympathy, whereby a certain fire burned in our minds, and as Harmodios and Aristogeiton loved each other so did we: then the mighty Ippolito thus addressed me:

  “It is not meet that such an one should be chained to this rock of Deira, where the vultures of impotent desire and of annulled energy consume thine heart and liver.”

  Thus he spoke: but there was a plan in his mind, perceiving which I responded, saying:

  “Only the successor of Him, Who chained Us and Our house with the Great Ban, is able to deliver; and that is the Paparch Alexander.”[18]

  Ippolito answered me again, saying:

  “We Ourself are in the grace of the said Alexander, magnificent, invincible. Moreover the Great Ban will not run in thy despite so long as that thou shalt be in Our company: for, where Este is, Ferrara is: and Rome hath no jurisdiction in Ferrara.”

  His saying was a true one. Wherefore, having collected my familiars, with a joyful heart I turned my back upon Deira; and anon, with the Cardinal of Ferrara, I rode to Rome. As we rode, we conversed concerning many things, in order that the beauty of our souls might be manifested: nor did we omit to exhibit the beauty of our bodies in feats of strength and agility. It appeared that, though I had not such irresistible strength as Ippolito had, nevertheless my limberness and quickness of eye gave me no cause to blush while we contended. But, when our alliance was confirmed by the discovery of our admirable qualities, we gave names to each other, as the manner was. To Ippolito, I gave the name Hebe,[19] on account of his xvij years. To me, he gave the name Sideynes,[20] on account of my xv years. And so conversing and contending, we reached the City.

  It was agreed that I should live as a guest in the Estense Palace, until such time when Ippolito should find occasion for speaking of me to our Lord the Paparch. And so it was. But, as soon as we had invaded the City, I became conscious that I had exchanged one prison for another: for, on account of the Great Ban, it was not convenient that I should go out from the Estense Palace, unless a decurion[21] of the cardinalitial familiars attended and surrounded me.

  Thus, I was precluded from seeking such adventures as my youth and my spirit required. Now and then, I accepted the restraint: in order that I might see the world’s metropolis, of which I myself was no mean citizen. But the estate of my procession terribly irked me; and I would not have gone out any more, save for a maid whom I espied on the third day; and she was thy proper mother, o Prospero. For, when I saw the tender girlishness of her, and her blue-black hair, and her blue-black eyes, and her rosy flesh, which was so bright and pure that I knew it to be soft and firm and cool to touch, then the fire of love was kindled in my dear breast; and I yearned after her. But her very name was hidden from me: nor might I ask it of any, for I was environed by my guards, and she was in the train of a princess. Her gait proclaimed her nobility. She appeared to be of equal age with me. For which causes, I pervaded the City at all hours in hope of an auspicious encounter.

  Once I scattered primroses low at the feet of her beauty. She gazed modestly downward: but I looked where I loved.

  [1] Pope Clement the Seventh began to reign A.D. 1523.

  [2] Rome is the only “City” to a Roman.

  [3] The gold zecchino was worth about half-a-guinea, but it had about four times the latter’s purchasing value.

  [4] I suppose Don Tarquinio to mean De Piscibus Romanis, published A.D. 1524.

  [5] This would be Br. Roger Bacon, O.F.M.

  [6]Regnator Olympi is Don Tarquinio’s designation of The Deity.

  [7] I am led to believe that this is he whom Machiavelli called The Prince—viz., Cesare (Borgia), Cardinal of Valencia, and later Duke of Valentinois.

  [8] This Prospero was born xiii Sept. 1513—under the Sign Virgo and the Planet Mercury. He seems to have been of a singularly pure mind, very studious, and an excellent man of affairs. He left a great name behind him as cardinal, plenipotentiary, and nuncio; and as the introducer of tobacco into Italy.

  [9] This sculptor was commonly known as Donatello. The image of St. George is at Florence.

  [10] Xystus the Fourth (Francesco Dellarovere).

  [11] Piazza Catinari, where the earthenware dishes came from.

  [12] “Lo Regno”—i.e., Southern Italy, the Kingdom of Naples.

  [13]ή μεγαλη Έλλας

  [14] The space between the two peaks of the Capitoline Hill.

  [15] Innocent the Eighth (Giambattista Cibo).

  [16] Don Tarquinio seems to have been born under the Sign Scorpio and the Planet Mars: which accounts for his queer character. I think this expression to be an allusion to the scorpion’s well-known practice of committing suicide by stinging itself when surrounded by fire.

  [17] Ciacconius, in his Lives of the Pontiffs, seems to have availed himself of this description of the Cardinal of Ferrara.

  [18] Alexander the Sixth (Rodrigo de Borja y Borja, commonly called Borgia).

  [19]ήβη = youthful prime (in Sparta, the eighteenth year).

  [20]σιδευνης = a youth of fifteen to sixteen years (Laconian).

  [21] Ten soldiers and a lieutenant.

  II

  That was the third day.

  The eighth was my fortunate day. I will set down the history of the said day, a.d. vij Kal. Mar., being the day of Mars in the year MCCCCLXXXXV.

  Divine Phoibos was finishing his course, and his radiant horses were about to plunge into the ocean-stream, when the Most Illustrious Lord Cardinal-Δ. of Santa Lucia in Silice alias in Orfea, Prince Ippolito d’Este of Ferrara, with me, Prince Tarquinio Georgio Drakontoletes Poplicola di Hagiostayros,[1] came from a certain meadow beyond the Milvian Bridge[2] where we had been playing at great-ball.[3] A pair of patrician pages had played on his side, which was red; and another pair played on my side, which was blue: but the red were victorious. I cannot remember the names of the said pages: nor is it of importance that I should remember them. Many persons have thrown the great-ball since Deykalion threw stones; and the names of the throwers have gone down into oblivion. These throwers were among those.

  Having come to the bank of Tiber, we ascended the cardinalitial barge. Indian oarsmen propelled it; and the colour of their flesh resembled the colour of a field of ripe wheat when as some delicate zephyr sways the stems in the sunlight not more than half revealing poppies: but their eyes were like pools of ink, fathomless, upon glittering mother o’ pearl, very beautiful, and quite unintellectual. Servitors crowded amidships. Turkish arbalisters and halberdiers from Ferrara manned the bulwarks. Pages, in liveries resembling vermilion skins from toe to throat and wrist, bearing armorials on their tabards, displayed at the prow the double-cross, golden, and the high Estense gonfalon, in order to teach discretion. For, cardinals like Ippolito, and princes like Tarquinio, risked life whenever they would play at great ball, in those old days when the Keltic barbarians of Gaul were occupying half the City on the one side of Tiber, while the Paparch Alexander was being beleaguered in the Castle of Santangelo on the other. For this cause Ippolito displayed his state, so that any man of evil mind, presumptuous, who should be tempted of the devil to molest us, might know that he would incur the ban of Holy Mother Church for molesting a cardinal not less than the ban of Ferrara for molesting an Este.

  The air above the river was growing chilly. We who were heated with the game needed to continue in action, that we might evade perils of ague or of fever or of the Pest, most pernicious. Wherefore I wrestled as vigorously as possible with Ippolito inside the vermilion curtains of the canopied poop. But his great streng
th reduced my suppleness to no price; and he threw me once and twice and six times, till he was weary of easy victories: but I was weary of the carpet.

  Abaft Ripetta,[4] came one in a little boat with rumours: with whom we instantly collogued. It was said that some sort of a peace had been patched-up. It was said that the Keltic King was about to relinquish the City.

  Ippolito’s mind became inflamed with desire of inquiry. Wherefore, having crossed the river, we descended from the barge; and made haste toward Vatican, in order that we might get the news from that side.

  As we hurried through the streets, mine heart was sad and disconsolate in my breast, by cause of my secret longing and by cause of mine ill-used body; and I was oblivious of all other things.

  Ippolito perceived my grief, and set himself to console me, as we walked along: but he knew not all the causes of my distress. He spoke only of the Great Ban, which indeed weighed heavily, and moreover it was the root and source of all mine ill. For, had it not been for that grave impediment, I should have been a free prince; and, with my freedom, I could have won the desire of my soul, and also could have used my body to advantage. Thus he spoke: but I passed, from grieving over mine unknown maid and my bruised flesh, into most profound trouble by cause of my disability. And that trouble was so sore that very soon it changed into furious despair. I would do: but I could not do, by cause that I might not do. To myself I seemed useless. I was merely a bandit. Yet I got no joy of my banditry as other bandits did, by cause that I was too foolish or too wise to comport myself as a bandit.

  Blood was blinding mine eyes at these thoughts; and my lips quivered fiercely. Thus to Vatican I came, in a passion of rage.

  [1] The gentleman’s actual surname, of course, was Santacroce: but, being rabidly infected with the mania of his epoch for Greek, he must needs give it the Greek form of Άγιοσταυσος. Regarding his frequent allusions to Saint George of Seriphos as his progenitor, the curious may remember that it was Perseys of Seriphos who slew a dragon (pterodactyl?), that Perseys’ mother Danae founded Ardea in Latium, that Publius Valerius Poplicola came to Rome from Ardea, that the house of Santacroce descends from him, and that the armorials of Santacroce are the armorials of Saint George, argent a cross potent gules. From which considerations a somewhat startling theory may be formed.

  [2] Now called Ponte Molle.

  [3] Pallone, a deliriously scientifically ferocious game common in Italy.

  [4] The port where the agricultural produce from Umbria was landed.

  III

  I saw those great stone stairs leading to the long fortified gallery which extends from the Apostolic Palace to the Castle of Santangelo. I saw the porphyry-coloured lines of paparchal men-at-arms which guarded them. I also saw the porphyry-coloured knots of chamberlains and pages and prelates which clustered upon them. All around me were voices and the noise of movement. Cardinals and bishops and barons, each with his company, continually were arriving and ascending the stairs and disappearing along the gallery above, or emerging therefrom and descending and departing.

  All this time, Ippolito was pouring sympathetic words into my deaf ears. As he left me, I contrived to hear him say:

  “Be of good heart, O Sideynes, for thy chance may be near even now. Fortune never ceaseth to turn her wheel; and what is down to-day may be up to-morrow.”

  Then he climbed the stair, attended by his pages; and I was left alone.

  I stood by a window in the hall, very sad. Our ij decurions remained, waiting in my vicinity, but not so near as to intrude upon my secret. Mine heart began to weep within my breast, silently, very bitterly: but the crowds which came in and the crowds which went out were ignorant of my grief. To the genuinely aggrieved, there is nothing more distracting (and consoling) than the knowledge that he is keeping his grievance to himself.

  Anon, a certain princess entered, attended by a galaxy of maids-of-honour, all chattering like jays, very flippant. She was most virginal and young, with a long sheet of shining yellow hair flowing loosely from a garland of jacinths. Her robe of mulberry-coloured silk was embroidered with gold herring-bones. The paparchal pages swept us against the wall to make a passage for her. I took one by the ear, demanding the lady’s name for a very valid reason. Having said that she was Madonna Lucrezia Borgia-Sforza, the daughter of the Paparch’s Sanctity, the wife of the Tyrant of Pesaro, a pearl of women, lovely and good, gentle and courteous to all, anon he threatened me with penalties for my abuse of his ear. But I consoled him with iij silver ouches shaped like herons which I tore out of my cloak; and, having pushed through the throng, I made a very low obeisance to the princess: for I wished to be seen of her in whose train I myself had noted my maid.

  When Madonna Lucrezia had given me a frank and simple look of admiration, for I was not unnotable in a knitted habit like a skin of nacre-coloured silk embroidered with a flight of silver herons,[1] she also climbed the stairs and disappeared: but her maids-of-honour waited in the gallery.

  I was standing below, strenuously looking upward. Courtiers came forward up there, pairing with the girls, strutting to and fro like a troop of apes and a muster of peacocks. One of the maids had no companion. She was walking by herself.

  An enormous baron, one of the loyal Cesarini, came from the gallery. His company gathered round him as he began the descent of the stair. The solitary maid also stepped down in his train, just when I was sinking again into my melancholy; and then I saw no more of anyone, but only her.

  Her sea-blue robe was girdled by great cat’s-eyes set in gold. Her mane of blue-black hair floated around her from a coronal of sea-blue beryls. There was a modest look of seeking in her eyes, half-veiled by lovely lashes. Tender blushes brightened her diaphanous flesh. I watched her very cautelously, maintaining my dejected attitude by the window, using all the powers of my will to draw her to me. Several times she passed me as she paced the hall. Anon she stayed by me, lifting her lashes, fulfilling me with the light of her regard; and she said:

  “O Madonnino, why art thou so unutterably sad?”

  I wrenched myself from my distress; and comported myself as one to whom a divine vision is vouchsafed, letting a look of recognition gradually come into mine eyes. So I went to her; and drew her into the embrasure of the window, where the mailed backs of my decurion walled us off from the passers-by. And, on my two firm knees, I told her that I had loved her since first I saw her in the City.

  She was not angry: but sweetly tender, modest, not unwilling. Her mood brightened mine; and mine heart became as blithe as the sea at dawn in spring. She was not mine; but she was to be had for the asking: for which cause I continued to speak. I said that I hitherto had had no means of approaching her: that I even now was ignorant of her name; and I used the sacred language of lovers.

  She begged me to rise, lest some passer-by should misunderstand me; and her eyes darted up the stairs to the other maids with their partners. She was very young, and perhaps a little terrified by the violence of love, though she by no means was for flying from it. I stood up; and, by cause that I most fervently regarded her, she let her eyelids droop a little while she responded to me, telling me her name and condition. Anon she used a new stratagem in the sweet affray, demanding that I should speak about myself. So, I was driven back into the citadel of my sadness, mine assault being prevented. She pushed me closer, persisting, gently urging me.

  Anon I told her how that our house had been xij years in exile, notwithstanding that we were the most noble patricians in the Golden Book of Rome; and I spoke of Saint George the Dragon-slayer of Seriphos, of the Great Ban, of our razed palace, of our baron fooling at Fiorenza. I said that I was a scion of the younger branch, and innocent of the murders which had caused us to be banned; and I told her of my breeding, with all other matters necessary to be known by her. I gave her notice of mine arts and parts. There I was to serve her, as she could see, young, strong, well-instructed, not uncomely, and burning for an opportunity of doing deeds. I also spoke of Ippo
lito, my friend, who had brought me to the City in search of that opportunity which was not at Deira.

  She, with divine tenderness, feared for my safety. I gave her confidence again, reciting the precautions observed and the privileges enjoyed among the Estense familiars. But, by side of these things, I bade her to know that I as yet was not a notable person upon whom our Lord the Paparch well might execute justice. Further, I said that Alexander so far had not manifested special virulence toward mine house. We were bandits when He began to reign. So He found us. The Great Ban had been laid on us by His predecessors; and, if He so willed, He could annul it. Wherefore I had taken the risk, for the sake of meeting an opportunity. And I showed her how that Ippolito, being in the Paparch’s favour, was watching daily for a fortunate moment in which to plead my case. Not that I wished to sue for favours: but I was seeking an opportunity for doing some signal service, which should merit and compel paparchal approbation. I preferred to help myself. But, until my disability should have been removed, I was (so I said) like a prisoner in chains, unable to use myself.

  She moved a little nearer to me, lifting the sweet deep wells of her eyes for me to bathe in; and she said: