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 conch 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!