CESARE.
Michelotto!
My curse on Florence! Messer Macchiavelli
Promised safe-conduct to him ... and delayed,
Playing me false.... What, Michelotto lost!
All of my army, but these failing troops
Camped on this sultry marl. Revolted dogs,
That fawned about my chase!
... Agapito,
Faithful, my pen, my representative
As signature is of oneself, go yonder,
Beside the cypress, gaze along the verge,
Where the great plateaux bow down to its base
From the Tiber valley: see if the Lord Vera
Is riding hither
With news of our new Pontiff.
My suspense—
Forced by the Sacred College to withdraw,
When ill almost to death, my troops and cannon
Ten miles away from Rome!
Agapito!
[He lays his hand on his Secretary’s.
—Hot?
AGAPITO.
[Kissing his hand.] Still the cruel sickness, empire’s canker?
[Turning to the cypress-mound] I will look out.
[He stands by the trees. The Mute half-rears herself up, her face to the horizon.
CESARE.
[To Vanozza.] You gave me
No rights: then why not happy chance? Of chance
Has been my life, fortune my reeling glory.
Why did you bear me under stars conspired
Against the hour when fortune was supreme
For gain or loss? I am a thing of hazard....
You could not breed even luck in me, or give me
The moment that is power.
[Vanozza looks at him a long time in silence: then she falls on her knees at his side, and presses her lips against the ruby ring on his thumb.