[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.
SCENE VII
A secret cabinet in the Vatican. A snowy day.