University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI

Sinigaglia: a red sunset over snow. In front the Archway of the Palace; before it Messer Niccolo Macchiavelli meets Don Michelotto da Corella.
MICHELOTTO.
See, Messer Niccolo!
We are even with our enemies. This rope—
New rope ... the enemy
Of Florence, Vitellozzo, and with him
Oliveretto soon will tassel it.
Ha, ha!
The false Condottieri in one net,
Fast as the souls in Hell!

MACCHIAVELLI.
The fairest trap set by the coolest hand!
Madonna's blood! Stupendous!—
Tell how the prey was trapped, Don Michelotto.
For since the Duke received me at Cesena
I met delay unlooked for. Artfully
These fools, these traitors had been brought to terms,
Bribes and dissensions seeding in their midst,
Till in mock penitence they won this town:
The Duke had quartered all their troops afar,
On pretext of the ground his troops must cover
When he marched in to hold the citadel—
So much was rumoured at Cesena. Thrill me
To the last fibre of my brain: relate!

MICHELOTTO.
The crazy fools, the bankrupts
In fortune and in wit!
Our Duke with gentleness, mansuetude
Landed the waverers...His smile—
Had you seen it finger this doomed shoal—his welcome,
His kiss ... the lure, a heavy spell
We, his executants, broke off from, anxious:
Such air a dragon sleeps in. Altogether
Riding, they chatted conquests, paused at last
Outside the palace ... but a smile, the tickle
Of expert angler, and a steady gesture—
Solid they were within, their host excused
For change of dress ....
Then cries, then execrations!
Changed men, our prisoners, in our power, outwitted,
White to the lids—for, Messer Macchiavelli,
They had shaken us with ruin.

MACCHIAVELLI.
True!
Florence—and Rome—believed your master lost!
A captain with no army, with rebellion
The stuff of his command, and France unsure!
He ruled himself as gods do. Of my knowledge,
This lord Duke, divus Borgia, is superb,
Magnificent and in himself a king.

MICHELOTTO.
Messer Ambassador, if thus you worship,
Let Florence strike alliance with my lord:
Your fruitless praise but brings his brow down, shapes
His lips unkindly when the name of Florence
Or that of Messer Niccolo drifts by.

MACCHIAVELLI.
I have written and will write
To Florence and her Gonfalonier.

MICHELOTTO.
Basta!
Always what you will do, and Florence always
A paralytic!
Messer Macchiavelli,
Your face, while I related, took my eyes,
As you had been a fiery gallant, hearing
His love's deliverance vouched. Will a cold hanging-off
Bring any man to his desire? Satana!
I think your whole of statecraft is the rack;
Your smile puts to the question ... bah, my fingers,
My toes knot under it!

MACCHIAVELLI.
Then leave me, friend,
And knot your rope for Vitellozzo fast,
Fast for Oliveretto.

MICHELOTTO.
[Turning toward the archway.]
Nay—behold!

Enter through the arch Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna, on his white horse, in silver armour, crimsoned, like the snow, with sundown.
MACCHIAVELLI.
Congratulations, Excellence! Believe me,
You have the brightest face in all the world.

CESARE.
Come close!
Your Florence, Messer Niccolo, has reason
To love me: all her petty enemies
Are in this hand for swallowing. Have I not
Betokened what I feed on, by my blazon—
A snake that gorges reptiles? Ha, the meal!
Do you remember
The ogres in our nurses' tales laughed out
Before they gulped? ... To-night, to-night a supper
Of creeping tyrants!

MACCHIAVELLI.
Vitellozzo,
Oliveretto ....

CESARE.
Hoo! My appetite!
Let Florence eat with me!
[Closing his eyes and laughing.]
It was a game,
The catching of these imps!
Truth, Messer Niccolo,
I am a boy again!
Ho-heigh! There will be music,
Romagnole pipes ... I love that rocky hills
And streams should be in music ....
Michelotto,
Those rascal French are pillaging—see, there!
Go, hang a dozen, swing them high!
My citizens of Sinigaglia shall not
Be plucked by crows—up with a dozen, high!
[Exit Michelotto.
[To Macchiavelli.]
Tell Florence she had better be my friend
Than enemy.

MACCHIAVELLI.
Always . . .

CESARE
No words—
Eloquent acts like mine! Ingratitude
It were—no less—now I have made this banquet
If Florence show reluctance any more;
And it would be resented.
We must ride
Round to the fortress: as the sun goes down
A conqueror's eye must look upon his army
To rule it as by light ....
And afterward ... ha, ha!
The ogre's banquet, the Romagnole pipes!
Heigh, festa, festa!

[He rides on.
MACCHIAVELLI.
Enchantment take me! What a singular
And terrifying creature! Dragon—yea,
Intelligent and deep; a libbard faithless
As any spotted beast; a Roman Eagle.
He fires me as some sovereign Cleopatra,
Infecting whom she animates.
O my poor Florence,
And I adore your Dread ... ah, but with lust,
Not love, for I could injure him, bring ruin
Upon him, for your sake .... And yet those shoulders
Are high above all princes, Italy!
Those eyes droop over reaches of wide dream;
The hand a vice! Lilies of Florence, day
And night he is my fire; I need no chafing—
Always a fire—not in my heart, good wife,
My scolding Marietta; but in my head;
And all my faculties a throng around it,
With reddened aspect and the cheer of life.
I am bewitched, growing in my enchantment
Magician rather than Ambassador
Of the Signoria: I possess a kingdom;
And, when this Borgia smiles on me, a Prince.

[The sun has set and stars come out over the snow.