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._