_The Vatican_
ALEXANDER _and_ CÆSAR
ALEXANDER
Thou hast done this deed.
CÆSAR
Thou hast said it.
ALEXANDER
Dost thou think
To live, and look upon me?
CÆSAR
Some while yet.
ALEXANDER
I would there were a God—that he might hear.
CÆSAR
’Tis pity there should be—for thy sake—none.
ALEXANDER
Wilt thou slay me?
CÆSAR
Why?
ALEXANDER
Am not I thy sire?
CÆSAR
And Christendom’s to boot.
ALEXANDER
I pray thee, man,
Slay me.
CÆSAR
And then myself? Thou art crazed, but I
Sane.
ALEXANDER
Art thou very flesh and blood?
CÆSAR
They say,
Thine.
ALEXANDER
If the heaven stand still and smite thee not,
There is no God indeed.
CÆSAR
Nor thou nor I
Know.
ALEXANDER
I could pray to God that God might be,
Were I but mad. Thou sayest I am mad: thou liest:
I do not pray.
CÆSAR
Most holiest father, no.
Thy brain is not so sick yet. Thou and God
Friends? Man, how long would God have let thee live—
Thee?
ALEXANDER
Long enough he hath kept me, to behold
His face as fire—if his it be—and earth
As hell—and thee, begotten of my loins,
Satan.
CÆSAR
The firstfruits of thy fatherhood
Were something less than Satan. Man of God,
Vaunt not thyself.
ALEXANDER
I would I had died in the womb.
CÆSAR
Thou shalt do better, dying in Peter’s chair:
Thou shalt die famous.
ALEXANDER
Ay: no screen from that,
No shelter, no forgetfulness on earth.
We shall be famed for ever. Hell and night,
Cover me!
CÆSAR
Hast thou heard that prayers are heard?
Or hast thou known earth, for a man’s cry’s sake,
Cleave, and devour him?
ALEXANDER
I have done this thing.
Thou hast not done it: thy deed is none of thine:
Upon my hand, upon my head, the blood
Rests.
CÆSAR
Wilt thou sleep the worse for this next year?
ALEXANDER
I will not live a seven days’ space beyond
This.
CÆSAR
Thou hast lived thy seven days’ space in hell,
Father: they say thou hast fasted even from sleep.
ALEXANDER
Ay.
CÆSAR
What they say and what thou sayest I hold
False. Though thou hast wept as woman, howled as wolf,
Above our dead, thou art hale and whole. And now
Behoves thee rise again as Christ our God,
Vicarious Christ, and cast as flesh away
This grief from off thy godhead. I and thou,
One, will set hand as never God hath set
To the empire and the steerage of the world.
Do thou forget but him who is dead, and was
Nought, and bethink thee what a world to wield
The eternal God hath given into thine hands
Which daily mould him out of bread, and give
His kneaded flesh to feed on. Thou and I
Will make this rent and ruinous Italy
One. Ours it shall be, body and soul, and great
Above all power and glory given of God
To them that died to set thee where thou art—
Throned on the dust of Cæsar and of Christ,
Imperial. Earth shall quail again, and rise
Again the higher because she trembled. Rome
So bade it be: it was, and shall be.
ALEXANDER
Son,
Art thou my son?
CÆSAR
Whom should thy radiant Rose
Have found so fit to ingraff with, and bring forth
So strong a scion as I am?
ALEXANDER
By my faith—
Wherein, I know not—by my soul, if that
Be—I believe it. God forgot his doom
When he thou hast slain drew breath before thee
CÆSAR
God
Must needs forget—if God remember. Now
This thing thou hast loved, and I that swept him hence
Held never fit for hate of mine, is dead,
Wilt thou be one with me—one God? No less,
Lord Christ of Rome, thou wilt be.
ALEXANDER
Ay? The Dove?
CÆSAR
What dove, though lovelier than the swan that lured
Leda to love of God on earth, might match
Lucrezia?
ALEXANDER
None. Thou art subtle of soul and strong.
I would thou hadst spared him—couldst have spared him.
CÆSAR
Sire,
I would so too. Our sire, his sire and mine,
I slew not him for lust of slaying, or hate,
Or aught less like thy wiser spirit and mine.
ALEXANDER
Not for the dove’s sake?
CÆSAR
Not for hate or love.
Death was the lot God bade him draw, if God
Be more than what we make him.
ALEXANDER
Bread and wine
Could hardly turn so bitter. Canst thou sleep?
CÆSAR
Dost thou not? Flesh must sleep to live. Am I
No son of thine?
ALEXANDER
I would I saw thine end,
And mine: and yet I would not.
CÆSAR
Sire, good night.
[_Exeunt_
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