University of Virginia Library

SCENE VII

The Borgia Tower in the Vatican.
Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna is facing the Lord Julius II.
In the prison with him are Monsignore Gaspare Torella, Messer Agapito da Amalia, the Lord Cardinal Giovanni Vera of San Balbine, and some Spanish Cardinals.
JULIUS.
Your Castellan has hanged my messenger.

CESARE.
Faithful!

JULIUS.
You promised
Cesena should surrender.

CESARE.
Ha, it knows
The false word of command; it will not answer
Its lord in treason to himself, controlled
By force and the malignity of Fate.

JULIUS.
Spawn of a harlot, if you brave the Church,
Reserving her possessions, you descend
Into the Mola's deepest cells to perish
Of darkness and the phantoms through the dark
Your serpent eyes will follow. This same hour
You will descend in night unless you render
The watchword of your castles. Render it!

CESARE.
[Retreating as if from a blow.
Your promise! You instated me; I gave you
My Spanish votes for the Vicariate
Of my Romagnole cities. I am still
Your Gonfalonier; and you press me thus . . .
Fool, I believed your pledge!

JULIUS.
—To hand
Our Papal fiefs and lordships to the Wolf?
We gave you but your own and your own life.
Cur of the Devil!
And you can speak of oath or pledge! How simple
Such plea from you! Could Sinigaglia hear!
I'll not be tricked. Dog in a doublet, villain!
Unbosom!

[He strikes his staff on the ground and grasps Cesare's vest.
CESARE.
[Suddenly slipping down to Julius' feet.
Holiness,
Secure your castles from the grasp of Venice!
While they are ruled by me, impregnable
They stand about the country; they remain
The castles of the Church. But publish me
A traitor to these walls my sword has won,
The strongholds lapse to Venice. For a Pope
I won them, let me hold them for a Pope—
[With a faint smile.
Under the shadow of your wings.

JULIUS.
The watchword!

CESARE.
Let me hold them in their strength
For Rome, the Church!

JULIUS.
Your watchword!

CESARE.
[Rising with flame in his eyes.
It will storm my heart ... I cannot.

JULIUS.
Then you have chosen
A lifetime in the dens your victims haunt.
Mule! And the Guard is waiting . . .
Son of Hell!

[He makes a sign to summon the Papal Guard.
CESARE.
[With a wide gesture.]
Freedom!

JULIUS.
...Speak out,
Or write your watchword, and Lord Santa Croce
Shall wait with you at Naples, till I hear
Cesena makes submission: then you pass
Free, where you will.

The Papal Guard enters.
CESARE.
My freedom!

AGAPITO.
Excellence, dear lord,
As you have pity on our love, unbury
The word that makes you free.

CESARE.
Agapito!
You are as I ....
[In a whisper.]
Write it.
[Agapito turns to the desk.
O my Cesena,
A word to soil you!—Overthrown,
Forli, Cesena, and my guardian Rocca,
Proof against every hazard, save your lord's
Betrayal of your honour! Fallen—O fallen!
The walls—the walls before me!

[Julius has moved to the table to receive the writing. Cesare throws himself prone on his couch and does not move.
A Chamberlain enters.
CHAMBERLAIN.
Holiness,
Messer Buonarotti, waits command.
He brings a drawing of ten Victories
Niched in your monument.

JULIUS.
Ah, the winged Victories,
Each triumphing above a subject province,
Disarmed beneath her feet. How terribly
This chafing Florentine achieves my future!
Ten times a victor, yet no war declared:
The Church triumphant—ay, since militant!

AGAPITO.
[As the pen falls from his hand and he gives the writing to Julius.
All that my lord can do
Is done: if still the fortresses maintain
Their loyalty to their effective Duke,
He takes no fault and he demands his freedom.

JULIUS.
[With a burst of laughter, as he reads the watchword.
The forts must yield:
If they resist our sovereign voice they ruin
Themselves and their usurper.
[Pointing to Cesare.
He is lost.

AGAPITO.
Then let me further write.
[Turning to the others with the paper Julius has returned.
Be witnesses, you, you ....
Now countersign my words! His liberty
Derives but from his castellans—that conquers!
They will ride forth beneath his banneroles,
Crying their Duca, Duca!

Julius.
They shall dislodge, cast down
His scutcheon on the ground and hoist the Keys.

[Exit with the Papal Guard.
[Lord Cardinal Vera approaches Cesare's couch, then shakes his head and joins the others.
VERA.
It is too sore! When he was but my scholar,
As if the son of a great potentate
He breathed to rule, his glance made heritage.

TORELLA.
This pestilential fever
Has worked down to the scath, the sunken rock,
His taint of blood: he is involved, uncertain;
The level brain has sprung at accident,
And scattered loose the logic of his dreams—
Broken and lost.

BONAFEDE.
Had he but drawn his army
Clear of this Rome and leapt on Pisa, had he
Refused to sell his votes he had been saved.

CESARE.
[Suddenly lifting his head.]
You were throwing dice .... Continue! Play the game.

[Silently two Spanish Gentlemen seat themselves near his couch and play. He turns on his elbow and watches them, passing his ball of perfume from hand to hand.
AGAPITO.
[In a murmur to Torella.
For hours, long hours, impassible he fixes
His eyes upon the board, as if the secret
Of Destiny were secret of a Sphinx
He could divine by watching.

CESARE.
[Still fixed on the game, but speaking to all.]
Without doubt
Our fortune is unchained against us, friends:
But there are chances—let us reckon them!
My captain Scipione is of ours
Till death; he joins me in my liberty.
The bankers guard three hundred thousand ducats
At Genoa and at Florence: from such nurture
Springs a live army. Volpe and Michelotto
Refuse for any bribe to quit my service.
I do not even accuse my fate, still less
The ingratitude of men, for I have found
In all, save one I trusted, loyalty.
Bring me my poignard with the little mirror—
That peasant's hand ruffled my chemisette ....
[The poignard being brought, he looks in its glass at his tear-stained face.
What ruin! Damage!
...And yet my enemies are frightened, Vera.
These giants of power still fear a fettered man,
Ill, shaking in a tertian, and with life
Itself unwarranted from hour to hour.
Stir up the hearth and spread the juniper's
Cloud of ripe resin ....
Enter Messer Niccolo Macchiavelli.
Messer Niccolo!
[He gives his hand.
Why are you come? You scarcely fear me now.
Welcome!

MACCHIAVELLI.
Your Excellence, to bid farewell.
To-morrow I depart.

CESARE.
Why are you come? . . .
Ah, I am cheap! All use me as the poor
Burn forest—ecco!
No diplomacy!
Why should you bid farewell to me you ruined,
Delaying your safe-conduct to my troops?
You triumph?

MACCHIAVELLI.
I am curious, Excellence!
And I must watch you, if I will or not.

CESARE.
A prodigy, a monster!

MACCHIAVELLI.
[With vibrating voice.]
No, but a Prince
Unequalled.

CESARE.
[Springing up.]
You behold? Have you the eyes—
Keen, cutting crystals that have shot out joy
To see me totter?
Messer Niccolo,
If we are comprehended, we are greater
Than Fate or any chance. I am a prince.
Set down my kingdom that shall ever be
While dreams are portents. Oh, set down
The perfect scheming of the miracle!
Each part of action in my brain was solved,
And flowed on to its end. You recognised,
When, in the greatness of effective truth,
Last year I awed Romagna, and exacted
Sharp vengeance on my injurers, my kingdom
Was as the genesis of stars? With fire
Of primal force I founded it, secure
Against all future shocks, save this assault
Of sickness unto death at the steep moment
When death struck down my father.
...Yet it crumbles
It grows a shadow round me. Macchiavelli,
Restore it, by the word embody it;
Let it not perish! I shall ever wonder
That such perfection fell to nothingness
In its astute, swift likelihood. O Fortune!
The gulf ....
[Breaking off with a gesture of menace.
You start for Florence?

MACCHIAVELLI.
Ay, for Florence,
To-morrow morning, close upon the dawn.

CESARE.
Take back to Florence this: if I but capture
Occasion once again, I sign a treaty,
Even if I needs must sign it with the Devil,
Gather my treasure, play my last resources,
Assemble all my friends, and, once at Pisa,
Use every power of my extremity
To render Florence evil, hour for hour
Of her despite ....
[With a low laugh.]
You think me slipping down
Into my tomb .... Ah, Messer Niccolo,
If I were you, this Cesar who is nothing
Would be contemptible. You ought to crush me,
You ought to make your mirth that I am flat:
It is my law that you fulfil; and justice
Is linked so with my judgment, even my passion
Conceives cold rage alone, or utter scorn
Of those who cannot end me. I look often
With still eyes on my end.
Farewell, farewell! You listen,
And all your face is speaking to my words.
We love each other, my best enemy.
Farewell.
All I have been is with you. Fortune
Out of her giddy air will arbitrate
Between my past and future.

[He gives his hand again. Macchiavelli quickly stoops and kisses it.
MACCHIAVELLI.
Prince!