Уильям Моэм - Then and Now

“They said it was a pity.”

“They said it was a pity?” croaked Machiavelli wrathfully. “My God! And to think that the Almighty created woman to be a helpmate to man. They said it was a pity. What would they have said to the death of Hector and the fall of Troy?”

“At last they forced me to take shelter. My teeth were chattering. They said we could hear your knock from the kitchen. They made me take off my coat and dry myself by the fire.”

“And the fish and the capons?”

“We kept them hot a long time and at last Monna Caterina said they’d only spoil so we’d better eat them. We were hungry.”

“I was starving.”

“We left something for you. Some fish and half a chicken.”

“Considerate.”

“We heard the clock strike once and we heard it strike a second time and Monna Aurelia went to bed.”

“She did what?” Machiavelli spluttered.

“We tried to get her to wait a little longer. We said you’d be coming in a minute. She said that two hours was enough to wait for any man. She said that if business meant more to you than pleasure there wasn’t much pleasure to be expected from any intimate relations with you.

“A non sequitur .”

“She said that if you loved her as much as you pretended you’d have found some excuse to break off your interview with the Duke. We reasoned with her.”

“As if one could reason with women!”

“But she wouldn’t listen. So Monna Caterina told me it was no good my waiting, she gave me another drink of wine and sent me away.”

It occurred to Machiavelli then that Piero had no key to get in with.

“Where did you spend the night?”

The boy gave him an arch, complacent smile.

“With Nina.”

“You spent your night more profitably than I did then,” said Machiavelli grimly. “But I thought she’d gone to stay with her parents.”

“That’s what she told Monna Caterina. We’d arranged it beforehand. She got La Barberina to let her have a room in her house and I was to join her as soon as I could get away.”

La Barberina was a procuress with a well–established and respectable business in Imola. For some minutes Machiavelli was silent. He was not a man to accept defeat.

“Listen, Piero,” he said when he had well considered, “that old fool Bartolomeo will be back before night. We must act quickly. Let us not forget that when Jupiter wished to gain the favours of the beautiful Danae he approached her in the likeness of a shower of gold. Go to the merchant Luca Capelli where I bought the gloves I sent to Monna Aurelia and get him to let you have the scarf in blue silk with the silver embroidery that he showed me. Say I’ll pay for it as soon as the money arrives that I’m expecting from Florence. Then take it and ask to see Monna Caterina; give her the scarf for Aurelia and tell her that I’m dying of love and the cold I caught waiting at the door, but that as soon as I’m better we’ll meet and I will devise a new plan to satisfy Monna Aurelia’s desires and my own.”

He waited impatiently for Piero to execute the commission and return with a report of his reception.

“She liked the scarf,” said Piero. “She said it was pretty and asked how much it cost. When I told her she liked it still more.”

“Very natural. What else?”

“I told her that it had been impossible for you to get away from the Palace and she said it didn’t matter at all and not to give it another thought.”

“What!” cried Machiavelli, outraged. “Really women are the most irresponsible creatures in the world. Doesn’t she see that her whole future is involved? Did you tell her that I stood out in the rain for an hour?”

“Yes. She said it was very imprudent.”

“Who expects a lover to be prudent? You might as well ask the sea to be calm when it is assailed by the angry winds of heaven.”

“And Monna Caterina said she hoped you’d take care of yourself.”

MACHIAVELLI WAS laid up for several days, but by dint of purging and bloodletting recovered and the first thing he did then was to seek out Fra Timoteo. He told him the tragic story. The monk was sympathetic.

“And now,” said Machiavelli, “let us put our heads together and think out some way to get rid of our good Bartolomeo again.”

“I have done my best, Messere; I can do no more.”

“Father, when our illustrious Duke attacked the city of Forli he was repulsed, but he did not for that reason raise the siege; he used every stratagem his intelligence suggested and eventually brought about its surrender.”

“I have seen Messer Bartolomeo. He did exactly what I told him to do and he is persuaded that the intercession of San Vitale was efficacious. He is convinced that Monna Aurelia conceived on the night of his return from Ravenna.”

“The man is a fool.”

“Though a religious I am not so ignorant as to be unaware that a certain time must elapse before it can be known whether he is right or wrong.”

Machiavelli felt some irritation. The friar was proving less helpful than he had expected.

“Come, come, Father, do not take me for a fool too. Whatever miraculous powers the saint’s relics may possess, we know that to make a sterile man fertile is not one of them. I invented the story myself and you know as well as I do that there isn’t a word of truth in it.”

Fra Timoteo smiled blandly and there was unction in his voice when he replied.

“The operations of Providence are mysterious, and who can know the ways of the Eternal? Have you never heard the story of St. Elizabeth of Hungary? Forbidden by her cruel husband to succor the necessities of the needy, he met her in the street one day when she was carrying bread to the poor. Suspecting that she was disobeying his orders, he asked her what she had in her basket and in her fright she told him it was roses. He snatched the basket from her and when he opened it found that she had told the truth: the loaves of bread had been miraculously turned into sweet–smelling roses.”

“The story is edifying,” said Machiavelli coldly, “but the point escapes me.”

“May it not be that San Vitale, hearing in paradise the prayers that the pious Bartolomeo addressed to him, was moved by the simple faith of this good man and performed for him the miracle which you had assured him it was in the saint’s power to do? Does not Holy Scripture tell us that if we have faith we can move mountains?”

If Machiavelli had not possessed great self–control he would have given rein to his anger. He knew very well why the monk was refusing his further aid. For twenty–five ducats he had done what he had agreed to do and it was not his fault if the plan had miscarried. He wanted more money, and Machiavelli had no money to give him. The chain he had given Monna Caterina, the gloves, the attar of roses he had bought for Aurelia had taken all his spare cash; he owed money to Bartolomeo, he owed money to several merchants, the money he was receiving from the Signory only sufficed for his current expenses. He had nothing to offer now but promises and he had an inkling that promises would mean little to Fra Timoteo.

“Your eloquence and your piety, Father, bear out the good report I have heard of you and if my letter of recommendation to the Signory has the effect we both desire I am sure it will be to the spiritual benefit of the people of Florence.”

The monk bowed with a grave dignity, but Machiavelli saw that he was unmoved. He went on.

“A wise man does not put all his eggs in one basket. If a plan miscarries he tries another. Do not let us lose sight of the fact that if Bartolomeo is disappointed in his hopes he will adopt his nephews to the injury of his wife and his mother–in–law and to the loss of your church.”