All language subtitles for Borgia S02E04 Pax Vobiscum.eng

The great gates to the city
have been closed.

A messenger is sent to the monastery to
escort Domenico and Savonarola here.

Your escort awaits downstairs.
Then the ordeal by fire will commence.

You could still withdraw.

I'm not afraid of death. I always thought
mine would come with a sword's thrust.

Not a slow burn.

The Pope implores me to divine
a way of saving my life...

whilst also saving our cause.

And you can?

Ah, Francesco.

- You asked to see me, Eminence.
- Yes.

Last night I kept vigil, kneeling
before the altar in the Duomo.

During those long quiet hours, the voice
of St. Francis spoke to me in a whisper.

Saint Francis? What did he say?

He asked why this battle for Florence
was not fought between Florentines.

He asked if his brother Franciscans
have greater faith than the Dominicans.

- Of course we do.
- Yes.

But St. Francis wants you
to prove that you do.

How?

Cardinal Borgia,
I will stand in your place.

- Savonarola will refuse.
- How can he?

When Fra Domenico stands in his place?

The baby was stolen from the home
of Adriana da Mila 24 hours ago.

- Yes, Holiness.
- And your search has found?

Nothing, Holiness.

I suggest you redouble your efforts.

Does Lucrezia know?

- How does she fare?
- How indeed?

Her brother is in Florence, about to burn,
and her firstborn child is missing.

She is sick at heart and inconsolable.

Rise, oh Lord.
And let your enemies be scattered.

Rise, oh Lord.
And let your enemies be scattered.

Let his foes flee from him...

as smoke is driven away,
so drive him away.

As wax melts before the fire, so let
the wicked perish before the Lord.

Arise, oh Lord.
And let your enemies be scattered.

Fra Domenico will hold the Eucharist.

This is sacrilege. We will not allow
the body of the Redeemer to burn.

You, Franciscan, are not the arbiter
of what Fra Domenico may hold.

- Like hell, heretical scat.
- Don't touch me.

- Give me the Eucharist.
- I will not, Franciscan savage.

Then you will burn in this world on...

I am a true believer.

I am a Prince of the Church and the son
of a Pope. I will hold the Eucharist.

Take your places.

Bow your heads and pray
in the presence of Almighty God.

Hear this. He who survives the flames,
demonstrates true faith.

Rise, oh Lord.
And let your enemies be scattered.

The same rains that cursed Rome...

now baptize Florence.

John Cardinal Morton,
Archbishop of Canterbury...

Chancellor to Henry VII,
King of England, Ireland and Wales.

Welcome to Rome, Eminence.

We trust the city agrees with you.

Holiness, if only I could abandon
my life in London...

to the wiles of this
most beauteous country.

The English always have
an irrational love for Italy.

It is the food. You have
gnocchi and ravioli...

in England we have mutton.

What brings you to us?
Besides your love of pasta.

His Majesty King Henry VII
sends his unwavering allegiance...

and word that his son, Henry Tudor,
Duke of York...

humbly begs for the honor of
Lucrezia's hand in marriage.

His firstborn, Arthur,
is engaged to Caterina d'Aragona...

- daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella?
- This is so.

And Henry is second in line behind
Arthur to the throne of England?

Henry is only three years old.

As was Arthur, when he was betrothed.

We wish to convey
our deep affection for King Henry.

Please present him this sword of honor
as he battles pretenders to his throne.

We will consider His Majesty's generous
offer regarding our beloved Lucrezia.

Tudor wants this marriage to keep his
wobbly crown from toppling off his head.

Holiness, sound policy would be for
your daughter to marry an Italian...

and thus unifying our peninsula.
Say, Prince Alfonso di Calabria.

Alfonso yes, but not di Calabria.
Alfonso d'Este would make a fine suitor.

That grape has been plucked. He
just married my cousin Anna Maria.

In fact, they make their way to Rome with
my cousin Giovanni and his new bride.

Both couples seek a papal blessing
on their recent nuptials.

Has Giovanni already
overcome his affliction?

Agapito has arrived.

Agapito Geraldini...

Secretary to His Eminence
Cesare Cardinal Borgia.

Have Lucrezia brought here
from my mother's villa.

Holiness.

I have a report from
Cardinal Borgia in Florence.

- A rainstorm?
- You've got to admire God's theatricality.

The Florentines now believe Savonarola
can survive any ordeal.

At each and every step
that water bug evades us.

Cesare seems to be convinced that the
monk is touched by the hand of God.

Agapito, bring me Cardinal Lanzol.

'The whole world knows Christ's glory
was not spread by force or weapons...

but by a poor fisherman.'

Yet Savonarola now has an armed guard
protecting his monastery.

And: 'He who defies me, defies God.'

This monk equates himself with Christ.

His bonfires have burned
every vanity but his own.

He does not see his pride
leaves him exposed.

Like the soft underbelly of an animal.

Is it pride? Or true righteousness?

Did not the high priests of Jerusalem
crucify Christ?

Savonarola doesn't commit simony,
he has no mistress and hasn't killed.

Not yet. No-one is incorruptible,
Eminence.

A town with no taverns
is like a woman with no pussy.

Cousin, why are you here?

Is that how men greet family in Florence?

My father doesn't think I'm capable
of handling Savonarola.

After all I've done for him,
he now questions my loyalty.

- No, the Holy Father...
- His doubt is contained in your presence.

I'm not a fool. Do not come closer.

The Supreme Pontiff demands that
he be silent or excommunicated.

If the wrath of Christ's Vicar doesn't
change the monk's mind, he must die.

I see now my place in God's plan.

I am a Pharisee. For that, I do not need
the help of either of you.

We have the Papal Guard searching
around Carbognano for your son.

Why? So that you can
send him away again?

Whether stolen or not,
my baby is not mine.

We sent the child away for your own
benefit, so that you could be seen...

as virgo intacta and be married.

The King of England's son, Henry,
longs for your hand in marriage.

And you command me
to marry this Tudor prince?

No, Lucrezia. We...

I wish to know what you truly feel
about this proposition.

Proposal.

Why do you pretend that I
contribute to my own fate?

I do not pretend.

In the past when you were a girl I have
made, as a father does, choices for you.

But now your role in this family
is as valuable as that of Cesare.

You don't ask him to marry women
he doesn't know or love.

We've demanded of Cesare a sacrifice
far more precious than marital vows.

What of Alfonso di Calabria?
He believes we are engaged.

He left for Naples to receive
a princely crown from his uncle.

Tiny Bisciglie, a blotch
on the Neapolitan map.

Henry Tudor brings us
England, Ireland and Wales.

If you wish to know my true thoughts,
then I too wish to know them.

Savonarola.

Savonarola, open the door.

Savonarola.

- Bring me to the friar.
- Very brave to come here without bravi.

Let him step forward, Salviati.

You have a small army, friar.

I'm a shepherd, not a sheep.
I will not be led to the slaughter.

Oh no, you will walk, head held high,
to the slaughterhouse.

Let me guess why you're here.

The Pope has banned me
from preaching.

Either of my own free will or
by more persuasive means.

Disobey and face excommunication,
or worse.

Be at ease, Salviati.

I beg of you, do not force my hand.

You beg of me?
I pity your ignorance, Borgia.

- Mercy is for God to give.
- Still, you choose to incite this turmoil.

- And within you lies the power to stop it.
- My actions aren't mine, but God's.

He will decide when I must stop. Not me,
not you and not a corrupt pope.

Corrupt or not, he is the Pope.
You're not.

But you have reached
a crossroads, yes?

Who do you love most? God?

Rodrigo Borgia? Or yourself?

Those who were desperate to inhale
the smoke of our burning flesh...

were left unsatisfied when the will of God
descended upon them in drops of rain.

You may ask: Friar, why are your
brothers in Christ...

hell bent to make war upon you?

Because I dare say to a false pope:

May God split this earth in two
and engulf you.

The whole world is awash
in the blood of innocents...

yet you and your sty of piglet priests
lift not one hair of your eyebrows...

your faces buried deep
in the trough of Rome.

Let the fire of my words burn its way
into the anti-Christ's ears.

Let the fire of my words burn its way
into the anti-Christ's ears.

He just condemned himself.

Let the fire of my words burn its way
into the anti-Christ's ears.

Alfonso d'Este and Anna Maria...

Giovanni Sforza and Ginevra,
bless you. Amen.

Gentle guests, on behalf of my family,
I'd like to express my gratitude...

to His Holiness Pope Alexander
for this marvelous feast.

I ask you to raise your glasses
in honor of my cousins...

Anna Maria and Giovanni...

and their exquisite new spouses
Alfonso and Ginevra.

- Salute.
- Salute.

- What's the matter?
- I'm exhausted.

- I have a long journey back to mother's.
- Stay here tonight. In your old room.

- Papa...
- I understand.

You're embarrassed being close
to your ex-husband and his bride...

as well as Alfonso d'Este with whom you
shared a flirtation, and his new bride...

while you are alone.

Giovanni and Alfonso
almost came to blows over me.

And now I'm of less interest to them
than an empty bottle of wine.

Do you blame me for my agita?

- Come along.
- I want to go to bed.

One moment and then you may sleep.

Giovanni, your wife is a work of art.

- Do you not agree, Lucrezia?
- Yes.

Thank you, Holiness. I am well loved
by the Gonzaga family.

- As is your bride, Alfonso.
- You look beautiful, Anna Maria.

- Thank you, Lucrezia.
- Enjoy.

Enjoy. We will not be satisfied until
you go to bed drunk, fat and happy.

- Now you may retire, Lucrezia.
- Why do you humiliate me?

On the contrary. None of them deserve to
know what is wrestling in your heart.

Be your own greatest ally.

Have you given more thought about
marrying young Henry Tudor?

- Savonarola will not see reason.
- The insane rarely do.

Eminence, my men are famous
for their powers of persuasion.

I wish to speak openly to Niccolo.
Please leave.

You may speak openly. We are family.

You're my father's spies
before you're anything to me.

Go.

- Savonarola is obstinacy personified.
- Yes.

He begs for the full force of papal wrath
to crash down upon this city.

The Pope proposes an interdict,
excommunicating every Florentine.

And he asks Emperor Maximilian to move
German troops through the Alps.

I cannot reconcile how Savonarola
can preach about morality...

knowing that he would sacrifice
the lives of his people.

I repeat: No-one is incorruptible.

- I may take a liberty that displeases you...
- Say anything you wish.

You strike me as a man
who is naturally resolute.

If this friar were anyone else,
I bet he'd be dead already.

- But you hesitate. Why?
- He allures me.

I see God in him. Who am I to kill God?

Be careful not to mistake
true divinity for mere theatrics.

Alright then. To silence him
I need only to discredit him.

- By making him confess.
- To what?

Fraud. If he admits that he has lied and
doesn't bask in God's sunshine...

- Florence will hang him.
- He won't confess to lying.

He will, if Soderini's men
get a chance to persuade him.

I will not subject another man to torture.
I myself have suffered gross injury.

Nor will I lay the deed at another man's
feet. I studied Aquinas in Pisa.

Aquinas? The patron saint of platitudes?

'No-one is a good prince unless
he is morally virtuous and prudent.'

- You laugh at morality, Niccolo?
- No, I laugh at fantasies.

Aquinas was not concerned
with our reality.

Look at what is around you.
Italy is an eternal bloody massacre.

Will you follow the good princes
who ruled before you?

Rising and falling as quickly as
the moon disappears each dawn?

I know the only way we can retain
our place is by propagating order.

And yet I believe in the monk.

- More than in my own father.
- I'll never repeat that.

I believe in Savonarola...

- but his lust for martyrdom will kill him.
- Then your hands are clean.

- Like Pontius Pilate?
- Your mind is extreme.

You must train it to be otherwise.

Morality is fine, but when compelled...

you must know the ways of evil and
have the mettle to employ them.

Giovanni, you dare to come to me?

I want to make peace.
I'm sick of heart.

- O for a knife to plunge deep in that heart.
- Why do you injure me this way?

Me injure you? After all the lies you
spread saying I fornicate with my father?

I was angry. You forced me
to announce I was impotent.

My heart...

Your heart, which you bemoan so much,
has the depth of a puddle. Go.

- I still love you.
- Go to la Gonzaga.

Alfonso...

- Did you get my letters?
- I keep them on my person.

The parchment is nearly transparent
from reading each word over and over.

How could you wed that Sforza woman?

- She has a pig's snout.
- I had no choice.

All I refuse, you I choose.
You forgot your pledge.

Not so. Not so one bit.

You have not left my mind's eye
for a moment.

I confess that I'm responsible
for our sweet affection faltering.

- Do you forgive me?
- I love you.

But as long as there's a wife waiting in
another bed, you're not welcome in mine.

Go to la Sforza.

My heart leaps again.

Lucrezia seems more distressed about
Alfonso than the loss of her child.

- What are you implying?
- I imply nothing.

- I merely observe.
- Lucrezia is bewildered.

- Her son is now her brother.
- Either way, she should show concern.

When she thought Cesare might die,
Lucrezia was bereft.

I worry less about Cesare's physical
death than that of his spirit.

You enjoy that drug?

Enjoy? No. Medicine.

May I try?

- It spoils the taste of the wine.
- Even so.

- You work late, friend.
- I work when I'm inspired.

- Inspired? By God?
- By myself.

Ah yes, an artist must be consumed
with his own world.

We all should be obsessed
by the art of being.

His inborn glory makes him mighty. If not
he's a twilight man, wavering in spirit.

- You don't wear Savonarola's white gown.
- No.

I don't believe in uniformity,
nor in hell beyond my lifetime.

So what do you believe in,
other than yourself? This marble?

I admire the men who mine it
and bring it here.

What of great men? Savonarola,
France's King Charles, the Pope?

- I have no interest in politics.
- But politics control your life.

The tax you pay on tools. The roads
which carry the marble to your door.

- Savonarola tells you whom to love.
- No.

I'm the master of my head,
my heart and my dick.

No man holds the power to judge me.

And yet they will.

Then I will do what is outrageous.

I too must be outrageous.

God the Father sent His only Son to
Earth to relieve mankind of suffering.

Yet Savonarola pretends
that he knows better than God.

He says that solely through misery
can one serve the Lord.

Deny yourselves the joys God gives.

And if you fail, you are wicked.

Bound for hellfire.

Must it be wicked to want your children
eating squab instead of stale bread?

A sin to dress your wife in silk
instead of sack cloth?

God the Father created us in His image.

When we seek what is best
for ourselves, for our families...

we are seeking what is best for Him.

We celebrate our Savior's generosity.

- He's right.
- Savonarola would have you believe...

that your earthly concerns are unworthy
of our Lord's consideration.

My fellow Christians, I don't see throngs
of unworthy sinners before me.

I see the living, breathing
children of God.

Your hopes, desires and tribulations
are felt by Him.

Embrace yourself. Embrace the world
and you embrace salvation.

Throw off your shackles
and lead your lives...

free of guilt and shame.

Rodrigo Borgia, you are an abomination.

The foul stench of
your prostitute Church offends.

Whosoever seeks
to undermine God's will...

whether he be a tyrant or the son of one
yet to blossom into his own tyranny...

let him be accursed by the Lord forever.

- Is this your father's will, Borgia?
- Yes.

And yours? Is this your will?

This is your confession. Read.

- Will I not receive a trial?
- Oh, this is your trial.

With all of you as my judges?

- You find this humorous?
- Yes.

Farce always has a dark soul
under the most ridiculous scene.

Fra Girolamo Savonarola, the charges
against you are thus:

One: Heresy. In your sermons you have
repeatedly abused Holy Mother Church.

- Do you deny this charge?
- I do.

I spoke against the man in the Vatican,
not the Church of Christ.

Two: Your claims of visions of God
are intended to defraud the public.

You wish them to think
you have divine inspiration...

all in the service of your vainglorious
pride and hunger for power.

You hold this trial, pretending to be just
and dare to call me a fraud?

I am no fraud. I am no fraud.

Three: The ordeal by fire.

You committed sacrilege in trying
to send Fra Domenico...

- Have you arrested him?
- into the flames carrying the Eucharist.

Was the Host consecrated?

Was the Host consecrated, Friar?

No.

- He lies.
- I do not lie.

Fra Domenico has sworn on the Bible
that the Host was consecrated.

Will you swear on the Bible?

I do not lie. I do not lie.

We'll continue when you've contemplated
your sins and agree to confess.

- Come, wait with us upstairs.
- I can't hide from what I've set in motion.

My spirit is stalwart...

my body is...

Holiness, thank you
for your graciousness.

We can only hope to open our arms
and our homes to you...

when you bless us with a visit.

- O, my God.
- God.

Oh, God in Heaven. My leg.

Bring him inside. Fetch the bonesetter.

- I will see that he is cared for.
- Yes, do so, daughter.

Your followers and protectors
will not dare to show their faces.

- You are alone, Girolamo.
- I am alone.

Do you confess?

Again, gaoler.

No. Stop. I beg you, hurt me no more.

- Are you willing to confess?
- If he will stop, yes. Yes.

Do not torture me anymore, please.

God, thy stroke has reached me.

Do you, Savonarola, confess
to organizing a political movement...

and amassing arms to expedite
its mutinous aims?

- No.
- Are you a heretic and a schismatic?

Interrogate the Pope, your father, about
his heresy, simony and debauchery.

What of your prophetic visions?

Do they not come from your rapacious
desire for glory rather than God?

No. The Lord is with me.

Give him the rope.

I implore you, confess and sign
and the pain will end.

The agony I now feel is no more
than a speck of dust...

to the torture you feel
in your black perverted heart.

You implore me to confess
to end your suffering, not mine.

You dare to stand in judgment of me?

You misconstrue my nature, Friar.

I can remain here until the day of doom
listening to your screams.

Pull the blasphemer up.

No. I beg mercy.

Do you confess to illegally
organizing a political movement?

I do. I confess. I'm guilty. I'm guilty.

God. I have denied you, God.

I am a weak and fearful man.

Jesus help me.

This time you have caught me.

No, you, Borgia,
suffer for riches and power.

If I must suffer,
I will suffer for the truth.

I recant my confession.
I recant all that I have said.

Fascinating.
What do you put on his skin?

Feverfew, comfrey and knitbone
to encourage rapid healing.

You can't move until the clay
has dried and hardened.

- How long must he have this setting?
- I will return in 30 days time.

30 days. This is impossible.

If he moves before his time,
the leg will limp.

- I thank you for your service.
- This is a disaster.

- My poor darling.
- You must return to Ferrara.

Why must she leave?

My brother, Duke Ludovico,
is en route to Alfonso's father.

An official state visit,
months in the planning.

You must be there. To do otherwise
would shame us.

- I will be well cared for.
- No-one can care for you as well as I.

- My duty...
- Lady, I'm sure you're more attentive.

But I will see he wants for nothing.

Yes, you Borgia are known
for your boundless generosity.

Love, you would do me a great service...

presiding over the affairs
of our house while I am unable to.

You are most beautiful.

This is your confession.

One can hardly see, Eminence.

I've been weeping for my sins.

- Could you read my words aloud?
- Why?

Surely you remember
to what you confessed.

Legally, his request is valid.

I have betrayed God, I am evil,
I am a sinner.

Doomed to spend an eternity
in the dung heaps of Hell.

I just wanted to hear you say it.

- Sign.
- I would, Your Eminence...

but I cannot move my arm.

Would you sign for me?

You asked me whom I love.
God, Rodrigo Borgia or myself?

Well, how can I love God...

when, if He exists,
He has abandoned you?

And you have abandoned your father.

Savonarola has signed his confession.

Now you must sign his death warrant.

Is everything in order?

Killing a man with a pen is no easier
than using a sword.

You've sent many men to their deaths.

But not this man.

Are they gone?

I have you to myself for a month.

- Help me remove this setting.
- No.

We must make believe you're hurt...

so that we may in secret
enjoy ourselves freely.

Lock the door.

Lift up your skirt.

- Alfonso...
- Lift up your skirt.

Higher.

Higher.

Do not tease me. Above your belly.

Come here.

You are most beautiful.

How am I to believe you? You said
the same words to your wife.

Sleep, little Laura.

Yes?

I came here to leave a new dose
of vitriolo for the Pope.

Put the bottles anywhere, please.

Lady, my concern grows for the amount
of vitriolo the Pope is using.

I will watch carefully.

Unholy impostors, you are condemned
this day as heretics...

schismatics and contemners
of the Holy See.

You're divested of the instruments
bestowed upon you by God...

at the time of your ordination.

I separate you from
the Church Triumphant.

From the Church Militant,
but not Triumphant.

That lies beyond your power, lackey.

God does not forsake us, Borgia.
We forsake Him.

- The sentence is death.
- Forgive me, brother.

Had I remained silent,
we may have averted this.

You made the choice our Almighty
Father intended you to make.

I will see you in Heaven shortly.

I die willingly for Him who died
so willingly for me.

Lord...

into Thy hands I commend my spirit.

Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem,
Creatorem caeli et terrae.

Borgia...

I hear the voice of God.
He curses your family.

Your father, your sister, your future...

Ah well...

God has finally told Savonarola to stop.

Let no-one claim his ashes.
Dump them into the river Arno.

- How fares Alfonso?
- He sleeps.

- And his wife?
- Gone to Ferrara.

You quiver like a blade of grass.

I do not...

I do not want to marry Henry Tudor.

He is three years old.

I cannot wed a child, not when
my own baby is missing.

I will marry any man you deem worthy,
but I beg of you, let him be a man.

An Italian.

Come to me, my child.

A brave ancestor of the Pazzi family...

returned from the first crusade with a
stone from the Holy Sepulcher.

The custom in Florence is to extinguish
every fire in the city on Holy Saturday.

Come Easter, during midnight Mass...

a leading citizen strikes a light
from that stone...

rekindles the columbina.

Then the people rekindle their hearths...

from the flame it provides.

This year the Signory has chosen me
to strike the first spark.

I do so, humbly.

- Pax vobiscum.
- Et cum spiritu tuo.

Pax vobiscum, Cesare.

The peace of God no longer interests me.

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