Then and Now (9 page)

For some days after this Machiavelli busied himself in gathering information from his agents, from Bartolomeo, from Farinelli and from those about the Duke. He could trust no one completely and he knew that Il Valentino's intimates told him only what they wanted him to know. But the most puzzling fact of it all was the inactivity of the revolting captains. The Duke's troops, which he had been enlisting wherever men were for sale, had not yet arrived, and thought he still held some fortresses in the states that had rebelled, it was impossible to believe that he could withstand a determined assault. Now was the time to attack. Now. Yet they did nothing. Machiavelli was at his wit's end; he could not for the life of him understand what caused them to delay. Then an event occurred that increased his bewilderment: the Orsini sent an emissary to the Duke's court, who arrived one evening and left next day; Machiavelli for all his efforts could not find out the purpose of his visit. He had by now received the Signory's reply to the
Duke's demand for armed help, and in the hope of getting some inkling of what was happening, he applied for an audience. It was not without trepidation that he went to the Palace, for what he had to tell the Duke was that the Florentines had no troops to send and all they were prepared to offer was an assurance of their benevolence. Machiavelli had seen Il Valentino in a rage and he knew that it was terrible; he braced himself to bear the storm with fortitude. No one could have been more astonished than he when the Duke received the intelligence he brought with indifference.

'I've told you several times and tonight I tell you again that I'm not devoid of resources. The French lancers will be here soon and so will the Swiss infantry. You can see for yourself that I'm engaging troops every day. The Pope has no lack of money, nor the King of men. It may well be that my enemies will regret their treachery.'

He smiled, and his smile was cruel and cunning.

'Would it surprise you to know that they've already made offers of peace?'

Machiavelli repressed a start.

'Messer Antonio da Venafro came on their behalf.'

This was evidently the mysterious visitor of whom Machiavelli had heard. He was the confidant and trusted adviser of Pandolfo Petrucci, Lord of Siena, who by common report was the brains of the conspiracy.

'He made the proposal that we should overthrow the government of Florence, but I answered that your state had never offended me and that I was on the point of signing a treaty with you. 'Don't sign on any account,' he said. 'Let me go back and return and we'll do something worth while.' To which I answered: 'We've gone so far it's impossible to withdraw.' And I tell you once more that though I'm prepared to listen to these people and throw dust in their eyes I'll do nothing against your state unless it forces me to.'

As Machiavelli was taking his leave the Duke in a very casual fashion dropped a remark which astounded the envoy of the Republic as in all probability he expected it to do.

'I'm expecting Pagolo Orsini at any moment.'

Piero had accompanied Machiavelli to the Palace and was waiting for him in the guard-room with a lantern to light him back to their lodging. Piero had learnt to read his master's face and he saw at a glance that he was in no mood for conversation. They walked in silence. When Machiavelli had taken off his cloak and his headgear he told Piero to bring him ink, quills and paper, and sat down to write to the Signory.

'I shall to go bed,' said Piero.

'No, wait,' said Machiavelli, throwing himself back in his chair. 'I want to talk to you.'

He did not know how much to believe of what the Duke had told him and he thought it might help him with his letter if before writing he put into words what he had in mind.

'I'm confused by this guile, these lies, and the deceit of everyone I have to deal with.'

In no more words than were necessary he repeated to Piero what the Duke had said to him.

'How is it possible for Il Valentino, with his spirit, his good fortune and his great ambition, to condone the acts of men who've not only prevented him from acquiring a state he has cast his eyes on, but have caused him to lose a state he had already acquired? The captains revolted because they wanted to destroy him before he could destroy them. Why have they delayed to attack when they had him at their mercy?'

Machiavelli looked at Piero with frowning eyes, but Piero, very sensibly surmising that the question was rhetorical, made no attempt to answer.

'Now he's strengthened his fortresses and garrisoned important places. Every day more troops are arriving. He's getting money from the Pope and men from the
French. And he has the great advantage that he need consult no one but himself. The captains are united only by their hatred and fear of the Duke. Alliances are fragile because the respective parties are more concerned with their particular interests than with their common advantage. Allies cannot act swiftly because every step must be discussed, and the folly, unpreparedness or incompetence of one may cause the disaster of all. They're necessarily jealous of one another, for no one of them wishes any one of the rest to gain so much power that he will be later a danger. The captains must know that emissaries are passing to and fro – you can be sure that Il Valentino has seen to that – and each at the back of his mind must be haunted by the suspicion that he is to be thrown to the wolves.'

Machiavelli nervously gnawed his thumbnail.

'The more I think of it the more I believe that the rebels can no longer do much harm to the Duke, they've missed their opportunity, and in that case they may think it better worth their while to seek a reconciliation.'

Machiavelli gave the boy an angry look for which there was no justification since he had not opened his mouth.

'D'you know what that means?'

'No.'

'It means that with their forces joined to his the Duke will have under his orders a formidable army, and it's inevitable that it will be put to use. No one can afford to pay troops to sit about in idleness. How will it be used? Against whom? That will be decided, I suspect, when Il Valentino and Pagolo Orsini come face to face.'

Since no one in Italy was such a fool as to trust anyone else farther than he could see, and a safe conduct was worth no more than the paper it was written on, Cardinal Borgia, the Pope's nephew, put himself in the hands of the Orsini as a hostage, and two days later Pagolo, the head of the house arrived at Imola disguised as a courier. He was a vain, loquacious, effeminate and silly man, middle-aged, plump and baldish, with a round, smooth face, and a fussy, familiar manner. Il Valentino treated him with great distinction and in his honour gave a great banquet followed by a performance of the Menaechmi of Plautus. The two leaders held long conferences, but what they discussed Machiavelli could discover neither for love nor money. Such of the Duke's secretaries as had seemed friendly disposed deliberately avoided him. He had nothing to go on but a smiling remark of Agapito da Amalia's that the negotiations were devised only to keep the enemy from taking action. Neither army in fact moved, and indeed the Bolognese troops withdrew from the places in the Duke's dominions that they had occupied. The suspense soon grew too great for Machiavelli to bear and, taking advantage of a letter he had just received from Florence, he asked the Duke to see him. Il Valentino received him in bed. He listened with his usual good humour to the Signory's protestations of friendship and then entered upon the topic which so much concerned Machiavelli. 'I think we shall come to an agreement,' he said. 'They want no more from me than that the possession of their states shall be secured to them and now we've only got to decide how that can be arranged. Cardinal Orsini is drawing up articles and we must wait and see what they are. So far as you're concerned you can rest assured that nothing will be done contrary to the interests of your masters. I would never allow the slightest harm to be done them.'

He paused, and when he spoke again it was with the smiling indulgence with which you might speak of the whims of a spoilt woman.

'Poor Pagolo is very much incensed with Ramiro de Lorqua. He accuses him of oppressing the people, of peculation, and of maltreating various persons who are under the protection of the Orsini.'

Ramiro de Lorqua was the most trusted of the Duke's commanders. It was he who had conducted the retreat of the routed forces after the battle of Fossombrone and so saved them to fight another day. Il Valentino chuckled.

'It appears that on one occasion a page was bringing him some wine and spilt it, and Ramiro flew into a temper and had him thrown into the fire and burnt alive. For some reason Pagolo took an interest in the boy. I've promised to look into the charges and if they're proved give him satisfaction.'

But then a piece of news arrived which suggested that the revolting captains were far from agreement among themselves: though the more prudent were ready to make peace, the more adventurous were still determined to wage war. Vitellozzo seized the Duke's fortress of Fossombrone and two days later Oliverotto da Fermo took Camerino by storm. This completed the loss of all the territories Il Valentino had Won during his last campaign. It looked as though the ruffians were deliberately set upon frustrating the negotiations, and Pagolo Orsini was enraged. But the Duke maintained his equanimity. Bentivoglio and the Orsini were the most powerful of his enemies and he knew that if he came to terms with them the others would have to toe the line. Pagolo went to Bologna. On his return Agapito da Amalia told Machiavelli that an agreement had been reached and only awaited the consent of Pagolo's brother the Cardinal.

Machiavelli was filled with apprehension. If this was a fact, Il Valentino was prepared to forgive the injury the rebels had done him, if they were prepared to forget the fear that had driven them to take up arms, it could only be for one reason, which was that they had agreed to make a joint attack on a third party; and this third party could only be Florence or Venice. Venice was strong and Florence was weak. Her only safeguard was the power of France, but she had bought the protection of France with gold and the coffers of the Republic were empty. What would France do if she were confronted with the brute fact that Caesar Borgia with his reconciled commanders had invaded the territories of Florence and captured her defenceless cities?

Machiavelli had a poor opinion of the French. Experience had taught him that they were more concerned with present loss and present gain than with future good and future ill. When asked to render a service their first thought was how it could be useful to them, and they kept faith only so long as it served their purpose. The Pope's jubilee had brought enormous amounts of money into the Vatican treasury, and his somewhat highhanded procedure of seizing a cardinal's property on his decease was continually adding to the sums at his disposal; for the mortality of these princes of the church was high; and the malicious indeed whispered that His Holiness found it convenient on occasion discreetly to come to the aid of a dilatory Providence. Thus he had ample funds to appease the anger of King Louis should he take it amiss that his orders had been disobeyed. Il Valentino had a well equipped and well trained army; the King might hesitate to pit his strength against one who after all was a vassal and a friend. The more Machiavelli considered, the more likely it seemed to him that the crafty Louis would accept a situation in which the profit was immediate and the danger, that Caesar Borgia would grow too powerful, remote. There was every reason for Machiavelli to fear that the Florence he loved with all his heart was doomed.

But Machiavelli was not only the diligent and conscientious servant of the Republic, he was also a man consumed with the lusts of the flesh; and while he studied with attention the letters he received from the Signory and wrote almost every day careful and exact reports; while he received in Serafina's house, sometimes openly, sometimes in secret, messengers, spies, agents; while he betook himself here and there, to the Palace, to the market-place, to houses where he had acquaintance to discuss and consult with; while he gathered every scrap of news, every rumour, every piece of gossip so that he could come to conclusions that were at least plausible; he found time to pursue the plan he had devised to seduce Aurelia. But his plan involved spending money, and money was just what he hadn't got. The Florentine government was stingy, his salary was miserable, and he had already spent much of the sum he had been given on leaving Florence. He was extravagant and liked to live well. He had often to pay in advance the messengers who took his dispatches and he had besides to satisfy the various persons about the Duke's court who were prepared for a consideration to give him useful information. There were fortunately Florentine merchants in the city who would advance him money, and he wrote to Biagio urging him to send whatever he could raise by hook or by crook. Then a strange thing happened. Jacopo Farinelli, the accountant, who before had only come to see him at night, muffled-up so that no one should recognize him, appeared at the door in broad daylight and asked to see him. His manner, which hitherto had been furtive and frightened, was now open and cordial. He did not delay to come to the object of his visit.

'I am commissioned by someone who is your friend and who highly esteems your abilities to ask you to accept this small token of his appreciation.'

From the folds of his dress he drew a bag and placed it on the table. Machiavelli heard the clink of coin.

'What is that?' he asked, his lips tightening and his eyes cold.

'Fifty ducats,' smiled Farinelli.

It was a handsome amount. At the moment nothing could have been more useful to Machiavelli.

'Why should the Duke wish to give me fifty ducats?'

'I have no reason to suppose that the Duke is concerned. I was ordered to bring the money to you on behalf of a well-wisher who desired to remain unknown, and you may rest assured that no one but your well-wisher and I will ever know anything of the gift.'

'It appears that both my well-wisher and you take me for a fool as well as a knave. Take your money, return it to him who gave it to you and tell him that the envoy of the Republic does not accept bribes.'

'But it is not a bribe. It is a spontaneous gift offered by a friend in appreciation of your high talents and literary attainments.'

'I do not know how this generous friend can have formed an appreciation of my literary attainments,' said Machiavelli acidly.

'He had an opportunity to read the letters you wrote to the Signory during your legation to France and greatly admired your acuteness of observation, your good sense, your tact and above all the excellence of your style.'

'It is impossible that the person of whom you speak could have had access to the files of the Chancery.'

'I wonder. It is certainly not impossible that someone in the Chancery found your letters interesting enough to copy, and that by some hazard the person of whom I speak gained possession of them. No one knows better than you with what parsimony the Republic pays its officials.'

Machiavelli frowned. He was silent while he asked himself which of the clerks it could be that had sold the letters to the Duke. It was true that they were all ill paid and some were doubtless secret adherents of the Medici. But perhaps there was no truth in what Farinelli said. It was easy enough to invent such a story. Farinelli went on.

'The Duke would be the last man to wish you to do anything against your conscience or to the injury of Florence. What he wants is to your mutual benefit, the Republic's and his. The Signory has confidence in your judgement and all he would have you do is to put his case in such a way as to appeal to the common sense of intelligent men.'

'You need say no more,' said Machiavelli, his thin lips curling into a sarcastic smile. 'I have no use for the Duke's money. I shall continue to advise the Signory according to the best interests of the Republic'

Farinelli stood up and replaced the bag of gold from where he had taken it.

'The Duke of Ferrara's agent was not too proud to accept a present from His Excellency when it was a question of deciding his master to send a detachment to His Excellency's help. If Monsieur de Chaumont hastened the departure of the French troops from Milan it was because the King's orders were supplemented by a handsome present from the Duke.'

'I am well aware of it.'

When Machiavelli was once more alone he laughed out loud. Of course the possibility of accepting the money had never for an instant occurred to him, but he could not help being amused when he thought how devilish useful it would have been to him. But as he laughed an idea on a sudden occurred to him and he laughed again. He was sure he could borrow the money he needed from Bartolomeo, who would be only too glad to oblige him; and it would be a priceless jest to seduce his wife by means of money he had himself provided. Nothing could be prettier. And what a good story it would make to tell when he got back to Florence! He could hear his friends chuckle as he gathered them round him one evening in a tavern and narrated it with all the effect he could contrive.

'Ah, Niccolo, Niccolo, what a good companion! No one can tell a story as he can. What humour, what wit! It's as good as a play to listen to him.'

He had not seen Bartolomeo for two days when he ran across him just before dinner at the Palace to which he had gone for news. After exchanging a few friendly words he said:

'Why don't you come this evening and we'll have a little music?'

Bartolomeo was pleased to say he could think of nothing he would enjoy more. Machiavelli proceeded.

'It's true the room is small and the vaulted ceiling echoes, but we'll have a brazier against the chill and with wine to keep the cold out we shall do very well.'

He had not long finished eating when Bartolomeo's servant brought a letter. He wrote that the ladies of his house didn't see why they should be deprived of a treat, the big room in his house was much better suited for music than Serafina's cold small parlour, it had a fireplace so that they could warm themselves at its cheerful blaze, and if he and cousin Piero would do him the honour to come to supper his happiness would be complete. Machiavelli accepted with alacrity.

'It's as easy as falling off a log,' he said to himself.

Machiavelli had himself shaved and his hair trimmed and he put on his best clothes, a long black damask sleeveless tunic and a tight-fitting jacket with billowing velvet sleeves. Piero had dressed himself up also for the occasion, but his pale blue tunic reached only half-way down his thighs and he wore a purple belt round his waist; his handsome legs were encased in dark blue hose, and his jacket with sleeves less ample than Machia-velli's was dark blue also; a purple cap was perched jauntily on his curly locks. Machiavelli looked at him with approval.

'You should make quite an impression on the little maid, Piero,' he smiled. 'What did you say her name was? Nina?'

'Why do you wish me to go to bed with her?' asked Piero, smiling.

'I like to think that you will not have entirely wasted your time on this trip. And besides, it may be useful to me.'

'How?'

'Because I wish to go to bed with her mistress.'

'You?'

There was so much surprise in Piero's tone that Machiavelli flushed angrily.

'And why not, if you please?'

Piero saw that his master was put out and hesitated.

'You're married and – well, as old as my uncle.'

'You speak like a fool. A woman of sense will always prefer a man in the flower of his age to an inexperienced boy.'

'It never entered my head that she meant anything to you. Do you love her?'

'Love? I loved my mother, I esteem my wife and I shall love my children; but I want to go to bed with Aurelia. There is much you still have to learn, my poor boy. Take the lute and let us go.'

But though Machiavelli was quick-tempered he could not be angry long. He patted Piero's smooth cheek.

'It is very hard to keep secrets from a maid,' he smiled. 'You would be doing me a service if you shut her mouth with kisses.'

They had only to step across the narrow lane, and on knocking were let in by the serving man. Monna Cater-ina was handsomely gowned in black, but Aurelia wore a rich dress of Venetian brocade; its opulent colours enhanced the whiteness of her breast and the brilliant fairness of her hair. It was with a little sigh of relief that Machiavelli decided she was more beautiful even than he had imagined. She was very, very desirable and it was absurd that she should have for a husband that gross, self-satisfied man who would certainly never see forty again.

After the usual compliments they sat down to wait for supper. The ladies had been working when Machiavelli and Piero came in.

'You see, they've already got busy on the linen you brought me from Florence,' said Bartolomeo.

'You are pleased with it, Monna Aurelia?' asked Machiavelli.

'It's impossible to get material of this quality in Imola,' she said.

She looked at him as she spoke and her great dark eyes resting on him for a moment made his heart beat.

'I'm going to have that woman if I die for it,' he said to himself; but of course he didn't quite mean that; what he meant was that he had never met a harlot with whom he more urgently wanted to go to bed.

'We do the rough work, Nina and I,' said Monna Cater-ina. 'We measure and cut and sew and my daughter does the embroidery. When it comes to that my fingers are all thumbs and poor Nina's no better than I am.'

'Monna Aurelia never makes two alike,' said Bartolomeo proudly. 'Show Messer Niccolo the design for the shirt you're working on now.'

'Oh, I should be ashamed,' she said prettily.

'Nonsense. I'll show him myself.'

He brought over a sheet of paper.

'Do you see how cleverly she's introduced my initials?'

'It is a masterpiece of elegance and ingenuity,' said Machiavelli with a very good imitation of enthusiasm, for he was in truth entirely indifferent to such things. 'I wish my Marietta had such a charming gift and the industry to make such good use of it.'

'This woman of mine is as industrious as she is good,' Bartolomeo said fondly.

Machiavelli could not but reflect that he was interested neither in her goodness nor her industry. He reflected further that husbands are often mistaken in the virtues they ascribe to their wives.

Supper was served and he exerted himself to be at his best. He knew that he told a story well and his sojourn in France had provided him with a number of spicy tales about the ladies and gentlemen at the King's court. Aurelia assumed a modest confusion when his indecencies grew too obvious, but Bartolomeo guffawed and Monna Caterina, enjoying herself hugely, egged him on. He could not but think that he was proving himself a most agreeable guest. They did full justice to a copious repast, and after a decent interval during which he drew Bartolomeo out to talk about himself, his affairs and his properties, which he did with complacency, Machiavelli suggested that they should try their voices. He tuned his lute and by way of prelude played a gay little tune. Then they settled on a song they all knew. Part singing was a common accomplishment of the day, and with Bartolomeo's bass, Machiavelli's light baritone and Piero's agreeable tenor they acquitted themselves to their mutual satisfaction. Then Machiavelli sang one of
Lorenzo de' Medici's songs and the other two joined in the chorus. As he sang he looked at Aurelia in the hope that she would guess he was singing only to her, and when their eyes met, and she looked down, he flattered himself that she was at least aware of his feelings. That was the first step. So the evening passed. It was a dull life the two ladies led and such a diversion was a rare treat to them. Aurelia's delight was plain in the shining of her splendid eyes. The more Machiavelli looked at them the more sure he was that here was a woman, unawakened still, who was capable of passion. He was prepared to awaken her. But before they separated he had something to say that he had been holding back for the proper moment. He did not think he was a vain man; but he could not help finding the idea ingenious. So when the occasion arose he said:

'You were good enough to say that you would be willing to do me a service, Messer Bartolomeo, and now I am going to take you at your word.'

'I would do a great deal for the envoy of the Republic,' answered Bartolomeo, who had drunk a great deal of wine and was, if not drunk, at least mellow. 'But for my good friend Niccolo I would do anything.'

'Well, the matter is this: The Signory are looking for a preacher to deliver the Lenten sermons in the Cathedral next year and they asked me to enquire whether there was anyone in Imola who could be entrusted with this important duty.'

'Fra Timoteo,' cried Monna Caterina.

'Be quiet, mother-in-law,' said Bartolomeo. 'This is a matter of consequence for men to settle after due deliberation. It may bring glory or discredit to our city and we must be sure to recommend only one who is worthy of the honour.'

But Monna Caterina would not be easily silenced.

'He delivered the Lenten sermons in our own church this very year and the whole city thronged to hear him.
When he described the tortures of the damned strong men burst into tears, women swooned, and one poor creature who was near her time suddenly felt the pangs of childbirth and was carried shrieking from the church.'

'I do not deny. it. I am a hard-headed man of business and I sobbed like a child. It is true, Fra Timoteo has eloquence and a fine choice of words.'

'Who is this Fra Timoteo?' asked Machiavelli. 'What you tell me is interesting. The Florentines dearly love to be called to repentance at the proper season; it enables them to cheat their neighbours for the rest of the year with a good conscience.'