Then and Now (12 page)

During the following week Machiavelli's emotions were as various as the colours of a crazy quilt. At one moment he was hopeful, at another despondent; he passed from happy anticipation to angry disappointment; now he was in a fever of excitement, then in the depths of despair. For Bartolomeo could not make up his mind. He was at once eager and loath to go. He was like a man who is tempted to risk his money on an off chance and is torn between his fear of losing it and his greed for gain. One day he would decide to make the journey and the next decide not to. Machiavelli's digestion was always delicate and this uncertainty gravely affected it. It would be too cruel if, everything being arranged, he were so indisposed that he could not take advantage of the opportunity he had taken such pains and spent so much money to create. He had himself bled, he took a purge, he ate nothing but slops. And to make things worse he had more work to do than ever; negotiations between the Duke and his rebellious commanders were coming to a head, and Machiavelli had to write constant letters to the Signory, see agents, spend hours at the Palace to pick up news, and visit influential persons who were come to Imola on behalf of their respective states. But at the last moment fortune smiled upon him. A letter reached Bartolomeo from his factor in Ravenna to say that if he did not immediately clinch the deal which he had been for some time negotiating another offer would be accepted. This decided him.

Machiavelli's pains vanished. On the day after his conversation with Bartolomeo he had seen Fra Timoteo and the monk had agreed to give Bartolomeo the instructions which Machiavelli suggested. To ingratiate himself with Aurelia he went to one of the merchants whom the chance of easy money had attracted to Imola and bought a pair of scented gloves stitched with gold thread. They cost a great deal of money, but this was not an occasion on which he could stint. He sent them by Piero, telling the boy to ask for Monna Caterina so that the servants might think no more than that he had a message to give her from his master; and at the same time he bade him tell her that he wished to talk with her and would meet her in the church at whatever hour suited her. He was elated when Piero came back and told him that Monna Caterina had called her daughter in and she had been delighted with the costly present. Gloves of that kind were greatly prized, and the Marchioness of Mantua had thought such a gift not unworthy of the acceptance of the Queen of France.

'How did she look?' asked Machiavelli.

'Monna Aurelia? She looked pleased.'

'Don't be stupid, boy. Did she look beautiful?'

'She looked as she always looks.'

'Fool! When will Monna Caterina be at the church?'

'She is going to vespers this afternoon.'

Machiavelli was well pleased when he returned from his interview with her.

'What a noble animal is man,' he reflected, as he walked home. 'With audacity, cunning and money there is practically nothing he cannot do.'

At first Aurelia had been frightened and firmly refused to listen to the proposal, but little by little she had allowed herself to be convinced by Monna Caterina's arguments. They were indeed unanswerable, Machiavelli thought, and that was natural since he himself suggested them. They were strengthened by the gentle, yet firm admonitions of Fra Timoteo. Aurelia was a sensible girl and she could not but admit that it was unreasonable to jib at a small evil when a great good might come of it. The long and short of it was that if Bartolomeo were safely out of the way she was prepared to accede to Machiavelli's wishes.

Having made up his mind Bartolomeo saw no reason to delay and so, accompanied by his servant and a groom, he set out for Ravenna at noon on the following day. Machiavelli with his usual politeness went to bid him goodbye and wish success on the expedition. Nina, the maid, was sent home to spend the night with her parents, and when she had gone Machiavelli dispatched Piero to Bartolomeo's house with a basket in which were fish fresh from the river, a pair of fat capons, sweetmeats from the confectioner's, fruit, and a demi-john of the best wine the city could produce. The plan was that Machiavelli should wait till three hours after sunset, nine o'clock, by which time Serafina would be in bed and asleep, and then present himself at the little door of the yard. Monna Caterina would let him in and they would have supper. At a convenient moment she would retire to her own bed-chamber and Machiavelli would be left with the object of his affections; but she made him promise that he would leave the house well before dawn. When Piero returned, having delivered the basket, he brought a last message from Monna Caterina. She would be waiting at the door as the church clock struck the hour. To make sure it was he, he was to knock twice quickly, wait a moment, knock once, and then after another brief pause again knock twice. The door would be opened and he was to step in without a word.

'What it is to have to do with a woman of experience,' said Machiavelli. 'She leaves nothing to chance.'

He told one of his servants to bring a pail of hot water to his bedroom and he washed himself all over. It was a thing he hadn't done since the night before his marriage to Marietta. He remembered that he had caught cold as the result and as was only natural had given his cold to Marietta. Then he scented himself with perfume he had bought at the same time as he bought the attar of roses for Aurelia. He put on his best clothes. Since he did not want to spoil his appetite for the excellent supper he looked forward to, he refused to partake of the modest meal Serafina had prepared on the excuse that he was going to sup at the inn with the agent of the Duke of Ferrara. He tried to read, but was too excited to read with attention. He strummed a little on the lute, but his fingers served him ill. He thought for a while of that dialogue of Plato's in which he proves to his own satisfaction that pleasure, being mingled with pain, is an imperfect good. There was something in it, but there were moments when meditation on eternal things was but an insipid resource. He laughed in his heart when he passed in review the difficulties of his undertaking and the ingenuity of his devices to overcome them. It would have been a false modesty unworthy of him not to acknowledge that he had been wonderfully clever. He didn't know anyone who could so skilfully have worked on the passions, foibles and interest of the parties concerned as to bend them to his will. The church clock struck eight. He called Piero, thinking to pass the long hour ahead by playing draughts; ordinarily he could beat him easily, but tonight he was careless and Piero won game after game. It seemed as though the hour would never end, and then on a sudden the clock began to strike. Machiavelli sprang to his feet, flung his cloak round him and opened the house door on to the darkness of the night. He was about to step out into the alley when he heard the tread of feet on the cobbles. He closed the door partly and stood just within to wait till the men, whoever they were, had passed. But they didn't pass, they stopped at his door and one of them knocked; since it was not latched the knock pushed it back and the flare of the torches two of the men carried discovered Machiavelli in the passage.

'Ah, Messer Niccolo,' said a man whom Machiavelli immediately recognized as one of the Duke's secretaries. 'We were coming to fetch you. And you, you were just coming to the Palace? His Excellency desires to see you. He has important news for you.'

For once Machiavelli lost his presence of mind. He could not think of any excuse to make. Had he not been caught thus, ready to go out, he could have sent a message to say that he was sick in bed and could not come, but how could he say that now? The Duke was not a man to whom you could say that you had other things to do, and besides, if he had important news to tell, it was essential that he should hear them. It might very well be that they concerned the safety of Florence. His heart sank.

'Wait a moment and I will tell my boy that he need not accompany me.'

'It is quite unnecessary. Men will be sent to bring you safely back.'

Machiavelli went into the parlour and closed the door behind him.

'Listen, Piero. The Duke has sent for me. I will make the interview short by telling the Duke I have the colic. Monna Caterina must be waiting. Go to the door and knock in the way she told you. Tell her what has happened and say I will come as soon as possible. Ask her to let you wait in the yard so that you can open for me when I knock.'

'Very well.'

'And say that I am distressed, mortified, miserable, woebegone and exasperated. I shall be back in half an hour.'

With that he joined the men who had come for him and went to the Palace. He was taken into an ante-room and the secretary left him saying he would inform the Duke of his arrival. Machiavelli waited. Minutes went by. Five, ten, fifteen. Then the secretary returned to say that the Duke sent his excuses, but a courier had just arrived from the Pope with letters and he was closeted with the Bishop of Elna and Agapito da Amalia to consider them. He would send for Machiavelli as soon as he was ready. Once more Machiavelli was left alone. His patience was sorely tried. He fidgeted, he tossed from side to side in his chair, he bit his fingers, he walked up and down. He fretted, he chafed, he fumed, he raged. At last, in desperation, he flung out of the room and sought out the secretary who had come for him and in icy tones asked him if the Duke had forgotten he was there.

'I have the colic,' he said. 'If the Duke cannot see me I will go home and return tomorrow.'

'It is an unfortunate accident. Surely His Excellency wouldn't keep you waiting except for matters of the greatest urgency. I believe he has something to say to you that is of vital interest to the Signory. Please have patience.'

Mastering his vexation as best he could Machiavelli threw himself into a handy chair. The secretary engaged him in conversation, and though Machiavelli answered in monosyllables and was evidently not paying attention to what he said, would not be discouraged. It was only by a great effort that Machiavelli prevented himself from telling the chatter-box to hold his silly tongue. He kept on saying to himself: if they'd only come one minute later they wouldn't have found me. At last Agapito da Amalia himself came and said the Duke was ready to receive him. Machiavelli had been kept waiting an hour. He gave a sardonic smile as he thought of Piero standing inside the door shivering in the yard. It was some small consolation that he was not the only one to suffer.

The Duke was with his cousin the Bishop of Elna. He was gracious, but wasted no time on compliments.

'I have always been frank with you, Secretary, and I wish now to put my position quite plainly. I am not satisfied with the declaration of good will which at the
Signory's direction you convey to me. The Pope may die any day, and if I want to keep my states I must take measures to secure myself. The King of France is my ally and I have an armed force; but that may not be enough and so I wish to make friends of my neighbours. These are Bologna, Mantua, Ferrara and Florence.'

Machiavelli thought this was no time to repeat his assurances of the Republic's good will, so wisely he held his tongue.

'So far as Ferrara is concerned I have acquired the Duke's friendship by his alliance with Monna Lucrezia, my beloved sister, the enormous dowry the Pope gave her, and the benefits we have conferred on his brother the Cardinal. So far as Mantua is concerned, we are arranging two things; one is to give the Cardinal's hat to the Marquis's brother, for which the Marquis and his brother will deposit forty thousand ducats; and the other is to give my daughter in marriage to the Marquis's son, whereupon the forty thousand ducats will be returned as her dowry. I need not point out to you, Secretary, that mutual advantage is the most solid basis of enduring friendship.'

'I would not dispute it, Excellency,' smiled Machiavelli. 'And Bologna?'

The Lord of Bologna, Giovanni Bentivoglio, had joined the rebellious captains, and though his army had withdrawn from the Duke's frontiers it remained on war footing. II Valentino stroked his well-kept, pointed beard and smiled maliciously.

'I have no wish to seize Bologna, but only to assure myself of that state's co-operation. I would sooner have Messer Giovanni my friend than drive him out of a state which I might not be able to hold and which might prove my ruin. Besides which, the Duke of Ferrara refuses to give me aid unless I come to an agreement with Bologna.'

'Messer Giovanni has signed the articles of association with the rebels.'

'For once your information is at fault, Secretary,' the Duke answered good-naturedly. 'Messer Giovanni is of the opinion that the articles do not safeguard his interests and has refused to agree to them. I am in communication with his brother the Protonotary and things are proceeding to our mutual satisfaction. When we come to an agreement the Protonotary will receive a Cardinal's hat, or if he prefers to relinquish Holy Orders the hand of my cousin, the sister of the Cardinal Borgia. The forces of our four states, supported further by the King of France, will be formidable, and then your masters will have more need of me than I have of them. I don't say that I bear them ill will, but circumstances alter cases, and if I am not bound to them by a definite pact I shall feel myself at liberty to act as appears best to me.'

The velvet glove was off and the mailed fist was bared. Machiavelli allowed himself a moment's reflection. He was aware that Agapito and the Bishop of Elna were watching him intently.

'What exactly would Your Excellency have us do?' he asked as nonchalantly as he could. 'I understand that you have already come to terms with Vitellozzo and the Orsini.'

'Nothing has been signed yet and as far as I'm concerned I'd just as soon nothing were signed. It is not my policy to crush the Orsini: if the Pope dies I must have friends in Rome. When Pagolo Orsini came to see me one of his complaints was the behaviour of Ramiro de Lorqua; I promised to give him satisfaction and I shall be as good as my word. Vitellozzo is another matter. He is a snake and he has done everything he could to prevent my settling my differences with the Orsini.'