Уильям Моэм - Then and Now

“It would be a misfortune which it would be my Christian duty to persuade all concerned to bear with resignation.”

“We are told that God helps those who help themselves. You have not found me ungenerous in the past, you will not find me ungenerous in the future. It is to your interest as well as to that of the two ladies that Bartolomeo’s hopes should not be disappointed.”

A faint smile for a moment lit Fra Timoteo’s Roman features.

“You know that I would do much to oblige a person of your distinction, Messere, but supposing that the good Bartolomeo’s hopes are disappointed, how do you propose that we should gain God’s help by helping ourselves?”

Machiavelli suddenly got an idea. It amused him so much that he nearly burst out laughing.

“Father, like the rest of the world you have doubtless from time to time to take a purge, and if you take a dose of aloes at night you have certainly discovered that its action is more satisfactory if you take a dose of salts in the morning. Does it not occur to you that the efficacy of Bartolomeo’s pilgrimage to San Vitale would be increased if he made another to Rimini, for example, which would oblige him to absent himself from this city for another twenty–four hours?”

“You are a man of so many devices, Messere, that I cannot refuse you my admiration. But this one comes too late. Messer Bartolomeo may be a fool, but I should be more of a fool than he if I counted on his being more of a fool than he is.”

“Your influence over him is great.”

“That is all the more reason for me not to risk losing it.”

“Then I can’t count upon your aid?”

“I do not say that. Wait a month and then we will talk of it again.”

“To a lover a month is a hundred years.”

“Let us not forget that the patriarch Jacob waited seven years for Rachel.”

Machiavelli saw well enough that the monk was mocking him. He was going to do nothing until Machiavelli could make it worth his while. He was seething, but he knew it would be fatal to show his irritation. Controlling himself, he parted from the monk with a pleasantry: he begged him to accept a florin for a candle to be burnt at the altar of the miraculous Virgin so that Bartolomeo’s wishes should be fulfilled. There was no sting in a defeat accepted with spirit.

HIS ONLY hope now of having his way with Aurelia was to enlist the aid of Monna Caterina. It was obvious that her concern at the misadventure which had frustrated their well–laid scheme must be great, greater than his indeed, for with him it was only a matter of satisfying his desire for a pretty woman; but her very security was at stake. He could no longer rely on the monk, but in her he had a self–interested ally and that was an ally you could count on. He had a firm belief in the ingenuity of her sex, to deceive was food and drink to it, and it was to her manifest advantage to do everything she could to bring their plan to a successful issue. He decided to arrange a meeting with her. The secluded life the two women led made it none too easy, but fortunately Piero was there to act as a go–between. He congratulated himself on his foresight in urging the boy to make love to Nina.

Next day he bought a beautiful fish at the market and sent it by Piero to Bartolomeo’s house at a time when he knew the fat man would be about his business in the city. It would be very unlucky if he could not get an opportunity to see Monna Caterina alone and make an appointment. Piero carried out his commission with his usual competence and returned to tell his master that after some hesitation she had agreed to meet him at such and such an hour, three days from then, at the Church of St. Dominic. Her choice of place was adroit. It was evident that with her feminine intuition she had realized that Fra Timoteo could be trusted no longer and it was just as well that he should not see them together.

Machiavelli went to St. Dominic’s without an idea in his head, but he was untroubled, for he was confident that Monna Caterina would be able to suggest something; his only fear was that it would cost too much money. Ah, well, if the worst came to the worst he would have to borrow once again from Bartolomeo; after all, it was only just that he should pay for the service Machiavelli was prepared to render him.

There was not a soul in the church. Machiavelli told Monna Caterina how it had happened that he had not been able to keep the appointment and how he had stood knocking at the door in the rain and how he had caught a dreadful cold.

“I know, I know,” said Monna Caterina. “Piero told us and we were greatly distressed. Aurelia kept on saying: ‘The poor gentleman, it would be on my conscience if he died.’”

“I had no intention of dying,” said Machiavelli. “And if I had been at the gates of paradise the thought of Aurelia would have brought me back.”

“It was all very unfortunate.”

“Let us not think of the past. I have recovered my health. I am full of vigour. Let us think of the future. Our scheme has miscarried, we must devise another; you are a clever woman, and I find it hard to believe that you cannot arrange some way whereby all our wishes may be satisfied.”

“Messer Niccolò, I did not want to come here today; I only came because of your Piero’s entreaties.”

“He said you had shown hesitation. I could not understand.”

“No one likes to be the bearer of ill tidings.”

“What do you mean?” cried Machiavelli. “It is impossible that Bartolomeo should have conceived any suspicion.”

“No, no, it is not that. It is Aurelia. I have argued with her, I have gone down on my bended knees, I can do nothing with her. Ah, my poor friend, girls are not what they were when I was young; then it never occurred to them that they could disobey their parents.”

“Don’t beat about the bush, woman. Tell me what you mean.”

“Aurelia refuses to go on. She will not do what you desire.”

“But have you put the consequences before her? Haven’t you shown her what her position will be, and yours, if Bartolomeo adopts his sister’s sons and Monna Costanza becomes mistress of your house?”

“I have said everything.”

“But the reason? Even a woman must have a reason for what she does.”

“She believes that by a special interposition of Providence she has been preserved from mortal sin.”

“Sin?” shouted Machiavelli, in his agitation forgetting the decorum due to the sacred building in which they were thus conversing.

“Do not be angry with me, Messer Niccolò. It is not for a mother to persuade her daughter to act contrary to the dictates of her conscience.”

“Saving your presence, Madonna, you are talking stuff and nonsense. You are an experienced woman and she is but an ignorant girl. It is your duty to point out to her that of two evils, not only reason but heaven itself commands us to choose the lesser. Who in his senses would refuse to commit a little sin, and one to which considerable pleasure is attached, in order to gain a great good?”

“It is no use, Messere, I know my daughter, she is as stubborn as a mule; she has made up her mind and I can do nothing with her. She wishes me to tell you that in memory of the interest you have taken in her she will always treasure the elegant gloves and the silk scarf you gave her, but she will accept no more presents from you and desires you to offer none. She desires you further to make no more attempts, either direct or indirect, to see her. For my part I shall always remember your kindness with gratitude and I only wish I could make up to you for the disappointment you have suffered.”

She paused for a moment, but Machiavelli made no reply.

“I need not tell a man of your wit and worldly wisdom that women are capricious and uncertain. If he chooses the right moment even the prude will accept the embraces of a lover, but if he misses it even the wanton will refuse them. I bid you a very good day.”