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.